


Rhaego: Brother to Dragons

by WanderingPlatypus



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dragons, Gen, House Targaryen, Queen Daenerys, Rhaego - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 23:12:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 32,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6631051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingPlatypus/pseuds/WanderingPlatypus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>AU where Rhaego survives</b> </p><p>Daenerys makes a different choice with game changing consequences. Rhaego survived, born of the same fire which brought forth the dragons, covered in blood and ash he greets this new world. Only is it ready for him and for what he will bring; the stallion who mounts the world - <i>the Dragon awakened?</i></p><p>
  <i>House Targaryen is not so easily broken. It is reborn once more of blood and fire.</i>
  <br/>
  <b>(Repost of my FF account story)</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** I do not in any way own Game of Thrones. If I did no Direwolf would have ever been harmed, only people...

_**Quick Summary:** Daenerys has a choice to make: the love of her life and conqueror of her heart or their unborn child and future of the Targaryens? What if she had never put her unborn son's life on the line for Khal Drogo but had given birth to him; Rhaego the "Stallion who Mounts the World"? What kind of life would the two of them had as Daenerys struggles to once more reclaim her rightful place as Queen on the Iron Throne?_

* * *

****

# **Prologue**

* * *

He had led her out into the peace and quiet of the mountainside while the moon shone majestically overhead, illuminating their path and bathing them in a faint, silvery light. As they trotted along in silence she stroked the mare, a wedding gift which had delighted her just hours ago, in a desperate attempt to calm her nerves and quieten her heart as it thumped violently against her ribcage.

This was it, this man-creature was about to claim her as his own by taking her virginity and possessing her body in the same way she had seen the other violent, vulgar creatures do to the women of their tribe in the wedding rituals earlier that day. As an observer she had felt sickened at the sight of such degrading acts, now she would be a participant and she was afraid.

Would it hurt? Would she disgrace herself with undignified cries? Would he care?

She stared at the muscle knotted back riding on the stallion before her and knew that, if he needed to, he could force her. He was a strong man, the finest warrior among his tribe and with his symbolic uncut hair he commanded the unwavering respect of his Khalasar; such status was not achieved by being gentle or unwilling to take what was wanted by force. She, by contrast, was a thirteen year old girl, petite in frame and gentle by nature. What chance would she even stand?

_"I gladly would let the whole Dothraki tribe rape you if it got me back my crown, little sister…"_ she shivered remembering her brother's words. She would find no aid from her King if she did struggle against this union.

She was a young girl, lost and alone in the hands of destiny. Her family had been overthrown in a bloody battle in the weeks before she had even been born, her mother had died as Daenerys entered the world, she had been raised on foreign soil and weaned on stories of the Targaryen's former greatness and now she was being thrown to the mercy of a man who seemed to her to be more of a barbarian than respectable potential ally to the Iron Throne. In this moment, as the fear of what Khal Drogo was about to do overwhelmed her, she felt utterly powerless.

_No!_ a voice suddenly cried in her head, revealing for the first time an assertiveness she had never been aware of as it bubbled up to the surface in fiery rebellion. _I am the daughter and granddaughter of Queens, heir to the great line of Targaryen. I am not powerless, I am Daenerys Stormborn._

Her bright violet eyes blazed as she began to hold her chin up high. _That's right, I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen and I will meet this fate with dignity and pride, as is right for a woman of my lineage,_ she decided at that moment. _I will not cower like a child any longer, tonight I become a woman and a Queen._

Moments later Khal Drogo directed his horse to stop at a breathtaking location overlooking the sea. His eyes met hers expectantly and with great control she did not drop her gaze but stared directly into his eyes as she dismounted with a dignity she had not known she possessed.

It was time.

He slowly circled her, his eyes taking in each detail of her appearance; from the way the wind whipped the material of her dress softly about her curves to the stray strands of hair playing before her eyes.

"No," he whispered as he tucked the stray hairs gently behind her ears.

Daenerys found herself momentarily caught off guard at the soft tone in his voice and the warmth in his eyes.

He circled her some more, gently exploring her body with his rough, callused hands. The sensation was unusual but not at all unpleasant. She looked down at the ground around her feet as she felt a blush creep up on her cheeks.

"No," he whispered again as he took her chin in his hand and tilted it up to face him, gazing intensely into her wide, doe like eyes with an expression she had never seen before.

Then he slowly removed the straps of her dress from her shoulders, causing the flimsy material to flutter lightly to the ground at her ankles.

She had promised herself that when this moment came she would not cower away like a child, yet standing before this man naked made her feel so vulnerable that for a moment she forgot herself and, by instinct, covered up her breasts and private region with her arms. Protecting herself.

A slight frown crossed the Khal's face as he wrapped his large hands around her small wrists and gently pried them away.

"No," he admonished as he took in the sight of her standing naked before him.

She gasped and as he began to relieve himself of clothes the panic which she had so valiantly fought down began to take hold of her once more.

"I am a Queen," she tried to tell herself sternly as she watched him pull down his loin cloth, yet this no longer reassured her. Despite her desperate attempt to meet this man with the fierce honour expected of a Targaryen, she was horrified to find tears escaping and running down her cheeks as she thought of what was about to happen. What he would do to her.

He stopped what he was doing and looked into her eyes as the tears streaked down her face. Another frown creased his brow as he reached out his thumb to carefully wipe away the streaks of water from her soft skin.

"No," he whispered sadly, shaking his head at her fear. He wished he could better communicate to her that he did not want to harm her.

He took her soon after that and while it was slightly uncomfortable and painful at times, he was not anywhere near as rough as the men she had witnessed from his tribe at their wedding feast. In fact, he had been gentle and caring throughout the entire ordeal, shocking her with his concern.

And it was done. She was now no longer the fearful and unsure young girl who had been so easily dominated by her brother, but a woman and a Queen.

The fire in her belly had been awoken and it promised to engulf all of the seven kingdoms before it was through.

House Targaryen was not so easily broken.


	2. Chapter One: Shekh ma Shieraki anni

* * *

#  **Chapter one:**  


#  _Shekh Ma Shieraki Anni_ \- My Sun and Stars

* * *

At first it had been difficult adapting to her new life, but Daenerys had grown so much in the past few weeks. While she had initially struggled to cope with the saddle sores as they popped and oozed down her legs, so painful and debilitating, as well as the general physical demands, now she found she was growing accustomed to life on the move. At the side of her Khal she was blossoming into a fearsome and passionate Khalessi; embracing her status as the Queen among these strange and proud warriors by enlisting the help of her maids Jhiqui and Irri to teach her the Dothraki language and way of life.

Her thighs ached from so much time spent in the saddle and her once soft, delicate hands were now forming calluses as she was determined to throw herself in to the lifestyle of these people, everything from learning to set up her own tent to training to wield an arakh. If she was to have authority in more than just name, if she was to become more than just the lead whore in this society, she had to come to understand their ways. She would earn their respect and loyalty, not just expect it in the way that her brother seemed to.

"And when the Khal rides into battle, it is customary to say Shieraki gori ha yeraan," Jhiqui was explaining as Daenerys tried her best to concentrate. "It means 'the stars charge for you'," the young slave girl clarified as she noticed her mistress's glazed over expression.

Daenerys nodded absently and attempted a smile to reassure her servant, whose eyes now brimmed with concern.

"Khaleesi," she laid a hand gently on Daenery's shoulder, "is everything okay? You look a little pale..er than usual."

Truth be told Daenerys had been feeling strange all morning, refusing to eat and snapping at her unfortunate maid Doreah after the girl suggested they resume their lessons on the womanly arts of love. Very out of character. It was strange, she had always been the picture of health, never having a day of illness as a child, yet today she felt sick to her stomach.

The world swayed briefly and her insides lurched.

"Khalessi?" Jhiqui was now crouched by her side, examining her clammy forehead with gentle fingers and shouting to the other maids for cold water and a bucket.

The bucket arrived moments too late.

Daenerys bent over and threw up violently, gasping for breath between sobs as her three maids soothed her, offering sips of water to the girl during breaks in her retches.

After several minutes her head cleared and her insides seemed to settle. In a desperate attempt to regain her former dignity Daenerys sat up straight, wiped the back of her hand over her mouth and gave Jhiqui a faint smile.

"'The stars charge for you'," she mused quietly as her maids settled around her, "how elegant."

And with that her lesson continued.

* * *

She was pregnant, there was no doubt about it now.

Daenerys placed her right hand over her small belly in awe, the reality that there was a budding life in there hadn't quite sunk in yet.

Had she still been in Westeros a giant celebration would have been in order, with all of the important families travelling from far and wide to pay their respects to the unborn Targaryen she was carrying. There would be nights of feasting and dancing, silk gowns twirling around beautiful, well brought up maidens as they flirted with the well mannered gentlemen of the court. There would be days of jousting and hunting, prizes won and honours given and endless gifts presented, laid at her feet for her child. Poems would be composed for them, plays written, people scrambling to steal a glance at their young, beautiful and fertile queen. All the things she had heard about only from stories told to her for as long as she could remember, stories of the life she was born to and torn from. Stories of the greatest of dynasties, the rule of the House of Dragons. She would have been glorified and praised by the masses, adored and revered by the people who would have felt secure knowing that there was an heir to the Iron Throne. She would have stood beside her husband, most likely a male relative of the highest status, well brought up and educated, and together they would have gazed over their kingdom as it danced away before them like clockwork, ticking to their will.

That was what it was to be Dragonborn.

She felt the fire kindling inside of her as she dwelt on the birthright which had been stolen from her and her child to come.

Bile then rose in her throat as Daenerys allowed her thoughts to drift to her mother.

She wondered whether such a feast had been thrown when her own existence had become known to her family. Had they celebrated lavishly, despite the tense political situation? Had it provided a reprieve from the warmongering of the lesser families? Had the Kingslayer come to pay his respects before he destroyed all that the Targaryens had built for the kingdom?

Had there been quails eggs and pigeon pies, roasted peacock and duck, jellies and sweetmeats?

Had her mother laughed with joy and naive hope as she felt the kick of unborn life in her womb?

Or had she known nothing but fear as events unfolded around her, as the darkness crept in and death snapped at their heels?

Her poor mother. It was for her sake that Daenerys had done all of this. She could have crawled into anonymity years ago for a quiet life, but to do so would have meant her mother's sacrifice would be for nothing as the usurpers would have won. Unacceptable.

So instead she had been married off to a man she had feared, been raised to the rank of Khaleesi of a people she had known nothing about and now conceived a child to continue the family name. Westeros would once more know their true king and Daenerys would not die before she saw the traitors who now draped her family's throne burnt to dust, their names thrown to the wind to be forgotten, scattered by the sands of time into insignificance as her family rose from the ashes to a blazing glory once more. Fire does not kill dragons, it only rekindles their strength to bring them back stronger than ever before.

Fire and blood.

Such thoughts brought her back to the situation she was now in. She was no Princess in the halls of King's Landing, sweeping through luxurious rooms to be waited on hand and foot. She was the Khaleesi of a large Khalasar, a warrior queen. A far cry from the comforts of 'home', yet fast becoming a home of sorts, such was the absurdity of the Game of Thrones that a pure blood royal could make a life among savages. Viserys believed this to be an unjust punishment, but Daenerys chose to see it as an opportunity.

However, there were times when the allure of the life that they had lost was strong.

For example, in a sharp contrast to the genteel celebrations of Westeros, the Dothraki tradition when discovering you are pregnant was somewhat different, somewhat more... Dothraki. Daenerys had recently discovered, when Irri had warned her, that she would be expected to eat the raw heart of a stallion in a ceremony which would foretell the fate of the young warrior she was nurturing inside her and give him a beast's strength. Once such a thought would have disgusted her to her very core, but now as Khaleesi she would devour that heart with spirit and make her Khal proud to call her the mother of his child. To disgrace him in the eyes of his people was not an option.

Yet she could not deny that jousting matches and night-long dances held more of an attraction for her than uncooked animal organs ever could.

It was sometimes good to remind herself of what she fought for.

"Jalan atthirari anni," came a gruff voice from the tent's entrance as her husband threw aside the material covering the 'doorway' and strode up to her, gazing intently into her shimmering violet eyes. In private he had recently taken to calling her by the affectionate Dothraki term which translated as _'moon of my life'_ and was reserved for intimate lovers, another aspect of how he treated her that had been a shock to her expectations.

"Shekh ma shieraki anni," she answered as she smiled up at his stern face, catching the expression of tenderness in his eyes and blushing as he slowly stroked her jawline, the rough pads of his fingers sending shivers across her skin.

This had been the first Dothraki phrase she had learnt, eager to respond to Khal Drogo's use of such intimate terms. It meant _'my sun and stars'_ and Daenerys found it to be a most beautiful sentiment, so poetic for a nomadic warrior's tongue. In fact, she was beginning to realise that she had underestimated and misjudged the Dothraki quite considerably; the more she learnt the more she saw that there was real beauty to be found what had first appeared to be, to her, a barbaric and primitive culture.

Jhiqui stepped forward to act as translator between husband and wife, as Khal Drogo began to speak.

"I teach you more bow and arrow shooting now," his voice was low, almost a growl and he made the Dothraki syllables sound even harsher than normal. He then dropped the hand which was caressing her abruptly, spun on his heel and left, expecting her to follow.

Which she did, eager to learn a new skill.

As she walked outside, through the sea of tents and people, she was conscious of many pairs of dark eyes following her. The Dothraki appraised her openly, curious to see how a foreigner was adapting to their rigorous lifestyle and demands. She knew she had a way to go before she was respected in her own right, but if she was honest with herself she was relishing stepping up to the challenge as well as experiencing the freedom of their ways, which would no doubt win her more favour than her poor, stubborn brother.

She wished Viserys would join her in opening his mind to these new experiences too. But she knew more than anyone how arrogant he could be and she was beginning to worry more and more that it would be his undoing. There had been a time, before marrying Khal Drogo, when she had never questioned her brother's rightful place as ruler and king, but now as she observed him more closely she had to admit he was volatile and not particularly skilled or inspiring as a leader.

Khal Drogo walked silently ahead of her as she became lost in her own thoughts, until they found themselves in a meadow of sorts far away from the sounds and smells of the camp. Then he held a hand out to stop her, pointing to a tree roughly eighty meters away from where they stood.

"Ovvethas rekke feshith," he commanded, speaking slowly and using simple Dothraki terms which she was started to become familiar with. _'Shoot that tree'_ , yes she could do that.

She nodded and raised her chin, taking the offered bow and arrow from him and arranging her body into the stance she had been shown in their last session: feet apart, stomach held in, body side on to the target. She could feel his gaze boring in to her while she was threading the arrow and taking aim. Under his scrutiny she suddenly felt foolish and clumsy in her attempts to hold the large bow in position. What was she playing at? She was no warrior.

_But I will be soon,_ the voice in her head rang out fiercely as she gritting her teeth and focusing all of her energy on the target before her.

She drew back the taunt string of the bow, aiming the arrow as accurately as she could before releasing it.

To her horror the arrow managed about three or four feet before landing unceremoniously among a patch of clover. Her face grew bright red and she dropped her gaze, ashamed to look upon the face of her husband after such a failure.

To her surprise he began to laugh, walking casually over to pick up the arrow before presenting it to her once more with a gleam in his eyes.

"Kijinosos, lajaki" he patted her cheek tenderly, "vitisheras." _'Not like that, little warrior, observe'_.

She smiled at the note of pride in his voice as he called her lajaki, little warrior, and made a mental note of his every movement as he positioned himself ready to fire. She was not surprised when his arrow hit the tree directly in the centre of its trunk, she expected nothing less from the Khal himself.

_Not so easily impressed_ , the voice once more interjected, and she startled herself with what she did next.

"No," she crossed her arms and stared up at him, shaking her head slowly. She wanted to see better than that, she knew he had more to offer, that hitting a tree trunk at eighty meters was no test of his skills. She instead pointed to a small apple in the tree twenty meters further behind their target. "Hit that apple," she said as clearly as she could, making her meaning obvious by including gestures.

"Qazer?" he raised an eyebrow and smirked at her, causing her heart to skip a beat, pointing to the ripe red fruit hanging from the tree.

"Yes, hit that qazer," she nodded, raising an eyebrow in return as she sounded out the unfamiliar Dothraki word on her tongue. She was challenging him with a twinkle in her eyes which delighted him.

He grunted as if such an easy thing were beneath him, but positioned another arrow anyway. Taking aim and firing, she watched as the arrow split the apple in half, flying directly through the middle in an impressive feat of marksmanship. Her eyes widened slightly and he grinned over his shoulder at her.

"Chek," _'good',_ he muttered nonchalantly to himself as he handed her the bow.

She did not get any where near the target that day. Or the next. It was only on the third day that she finally hit the illusive tree, barely believing her eyes as the arrow embedded itself into the bark.

She had looked to her instructor with wide eyes and been shocked to see a giant, proud smile on his face. Just for a second.

"Chek," he nodded gruffly to her after regaining composure. He then had her repeat her success over and over again until he was satisfied her shot had not been a lucky accident.

_You may make a Khaleesi out of me, yet,_ she thought happily.

She felt a stirring in his stomach as the kindles grew.

* * *

A month or so later, once she had become more confident speaking Dothraki, she finally told him that she was pregnant with his child while they lay curled up on their futon together. The proud smile which he had greeted her with upon her archery success was nothing compared to the reaction this news brought out.

"Moon of my life," he cried, drawing her into an embrace in his powerful arms. "We will soon have a son!"

"A strong warrior, like his father." she nodded, smiling as he laid a hand over her stomach in wonder.

"Our Khalakka," _'our prince',_ he murmured softly.

She nodded and placed her hand on top of his. _Shekh ma shieraki anni, I think I am falling in love with you..._

The two of them lapsed into silence as they began to imagine the future they would carve for their unborn child and when sleep finally embraced them it was filled with dreams of the possibilities now opening before them.

In the corner of the room on the surface of the dressing table the three dragon eggs began to glow slightly as the dragons inside stirred. Daenerys felt a strange sensation as the child inside her also stirred, eager to unite with his brothers.

_"Our time approaches, little brother,"_ the voices touched his mind as he settled. _"We will soon be birthed through blood and fire."_


	3. Chapter Two: Jalan Atthirari Anni

* * *

#  **Chapter two:**  


#  _Jalan Atthirari Anni_ \- Moon of my Life

* * *

As he trained, swinging the arakh in a fluid and deadly motion as if it were an extension of his own limbs, his mind wandered. His muscles stretched taunt and the beat of his heart thrummed life into his veins as his body rehearsed the familiar movements and his mind wandered a well worn path. He was to be a father and he could not be more proud. The reality had not yet sunk in and every time he thought of starting a family with his woman, each time he pictured returning from a raid to the sight of her tender face singing to their baby as they fell asleep or lovingly bathing them as they wriggled and shrieked, his chest tightened and soared with elation.

Sweat snaked its way down his back as the heavy sun beat its rays against him, pushing him to train harder, to push past the boundaries of his endurance. He swung the blade and was satisfied to hear the rush of noise as he sliced through the very air. He knew he was a great warrior; possessing the skill and experience as well as the fury in his veins, not to be called upon lightly, that brought him respect from all those around him. Other powerful Khals would see his uncut hair and dip their heads in awe. He was a beast in the body of a man, a true blooded Stallion.

Yet he knew with certainty that his son would be a far greater warrior than he.

He pushed his muscles further as the pain seared through them. It was the good pain, the pain that foretold progress as he once more cut down those barriers of the body's limitations. Sweat stung his eyes and he shook his head, ceasing his training ritual for less than a second and never losing focus. The fire in his veins invigorated him as his muscles screamed out against such treatment and the waves of adrenaline washed over him.

By the time he had finished he wanted nothing more than his Khaleesi and felt a moment's satisfaction knowing that she would want him too.

An even greater fire ran through her veins.

His Khaleesi had stared up into his eyes with a fierce determination which quickened his bloodbeat, her eyes burning into his as she devoured the large, raw heart in her hands. Truth be told, when he had first married this woman before him, from time to time he had worried that she was not true Khaleesi material, that she would not be able to adapt to the expectations of life in the Khalasar. Yet slowly he had come to see that beneath the frail exterior bubbled a powerful warrior who had been just waiting to break out.

His woman would be underestimated no more, with each ripped away mouthful she took, with each blood splattering that ran down her chin, she was showing the members of her Khalasar, and him, that she had the true spirit of the Dothraki. Although he had known this for a while his blood still pounded with pride renewed as he watched her.

Only a few more chunks to go.

His eyes had never left hers as he had known this would be difficult for her, so different from her own traditions.

Then, for a moment it looked as if she was close to gagging on the flesh as she tried to force it down. He stared at her even more intently, his eyes boring into hers as he willed his strength into her soul. Come on, my little warrior! he fought down the urge to shout, drawing his eyebrows together as she struggled.

I don't need your strength My Sun and Stars, her eyes flashed proudly as she successfully composed herself and took the last few mouthfuls in one vicious bite. She flicked him a small smile and the sight of her with a chin covered in blood, teeth stained red and eyes fierce aroused him greatly. His Khaleesi, how could he have ever underestimated her, she was a dragon who danced among mortals. She was fire, he could not tame or control her. He had truly chosen well.

She raised her chin and met the eyes of those around her, her people, victoriously as the Dosh Khaleen made their prediction of the child.

Drogo tore his attention away from her for a moment, eager to hear news of their unborn. Would it be a son? Even if it wasn't, he would still enjoy training a girl to greatness, to be as strong and wild as her mother, the Moon of his Life. Whatever they had, Drogo knew in that moment he would be proud.

"As swift as the wind he rides, and behind him his Khalasar covers the earth, men without number, with arakhs shining in their hands like blades of razor grass. Fierce as a storm this prince will be. His enemies will tremble before him, and their wives will weep tears of blood and rend their flesh in grief. The bells in his hair will sing his coming, and the milk men in the stone tents will fear his name." The members of the dosh khaleen trembled as they spoke and Drogo noticed some glanced at his Khaleesi as if they were afraid. "The prince is riding, and he shall be the Stallion Who Mounts the World."

There was silence in the tent as the words reverberated and died away, their meaning left to sink in.

Khal Drogo felt his head reel at such news. His own son was the prophesied leader of all Dothraki? Yet it made sense, when you mate a Stallion with a Dragon you do not bring forth cattle.

He stared down at his woman once more and saw the same conclusion touch her mind. They both rose slowly, he walked over to her side and lay a hand over her slight bumb, feeling a thrumming beneath his fingers as if the life inside could feel the atmosphere and was responding eagerly.

"Khalakka anni," _my prince_ , he whispered, tears pricking his eyes at the raw power of such a moment.

"Rai!" the voices of his trusted bloodriders as they cried out their battle cry broke the spell and reminded him of where he was. The shout was met with a gradually growing response from the people present, soon forming a chant as his whole Khalasar erupted with cheers, celebrating and revering his unborn son; The Stallion Who Mounts the World.

He held his Khaleesi's tiny, white hand in his and raised it above their heads to a fierce roar from their people.

"We shall call him Rhaego," she whispered softly so that only he could hear. He sounded out the name in his head, it was strong and while it meant nothing in Dothraki he was sure it held some significance for his woman by the way her eyes shone as she suggested it. Very well, Rhaego it was. He nodded down at her and she smiled, turning to the people to announce their decision.

His bloodrate soared as his Khalasar took up the chant of his son's name. "Rhaego! Rhaego!" they cried, loud enough to shake dust.

It was only out of the corner of his eye, as he picked up and swung his wife in the air, that he saw the snake-like brother of hers, Viserys, stalk out of the tent. To his relief he saw Jorah the Andal follow close at heel. He had grown to respect the milk-pale warrior and trusted him to keep a close eye out for trouble.

For now all Drogo wanted to do was hold his wife.

"Moon of my life," he whispered gruffly as he held he against him. "This day you have made me truly proud."

Yet the night of festivities and merriment was soon interrupted by that snake who called himself a dragon, Viserys. He had tried to steal his woman's precious dragon eggs and run but Jorah the Andal had stopped him and now it was Drogo's decision of how to act.

The solution came to him as he saw the worm shouting at his Khaleesi, disrespecting the mother of his child, the Moon of his Life, in front of their tribe. Drogo had beaten men to death for less. The only reason he had not come to blows with the snake before now was out of respect and affection for Daenerys herself, but this was the limit - he would give no further.

However, Drogo was a man of honour and would not contemplate going back on his word. A queen for a crown, he knew such a deal had been more than worth while each night as he looked down on her face, but it did tie his hands at this moment. Or did it? A thought came to him then, watching the weak-hearted creature accost his Queen. He had promised a crown and a crown he would give. A slow smile crept across his face as he strode forward towards the Targaryen siblings.

He barked swift orders to his servants in preparation.

His eyes were cold and dark as he addressed his brother in law and he could tell by her body language that his Khaleesi sensed there was menace in his words as he pacified her elder brother with the promise of a final fulfilment of his vow. The fact that she did not stop him eased his mind, he had the go-ahead from his beloved to act. If she had asked him to stop, even with no more than a plea in her eyes, he would have.

But this would be so much more satisfying.

Moments later as he led Viserys, now amiable and chatting enthusiastically, to the chair he found his bloodrate surging in anticipation. Not until now had he realised just how much he wanted to get rid of the milk-pale pest. His eyes gleamed as he was handed the bucket of liquid hot gold, fit for a King.

He could not help glancing back at his woman, just for a moment, and took in the way her eyes widened in understanding. If she wanted to put a stop to this she had better act now. He hesitated for a beat, just long enough for her to intervene. She did not. She merely observed with curious interest.

So be it.

The screams as Viserys felt the first lick of flames and drops of fire touch his skin were piercing. Two strong men held him down as Drogo himself poured the molten metal over his face, watching with interest as the metal seeped into his ears and eyes, remoulding all in its path, and the pale skin curled up and singed with acrid smoke. The smell turned his stomach as the flesh was burnt before his eyes, not the most pleasant of sights but one which he would lose no sleep over.

Once it was done and the crown had cooled over the deformed face of the still corpse, Daenerys approached him quietly and sighed.

"He was not a true dragon," she muttered, bemused. "Fire cannot kill a dragon."

He said nothing but felt the need to comfort her somehow so reached out a tentative hand and placed it protectively over her belly. Under his hand he felt a powerful beat, similar to the war drums which some tribes favoured, coming from within. "He stirs," Drogo whispered in awe, catching his woman's eye.

She nodded. "He has been thrashing about like a dragon ever since you began the 'coronation'," when she held her chin up there was a spark in her eyes that had not been there before. "He is eager to join us, My Sun and Stars, and this scene has just quickened his need. He must be a true Targaryen, to be moved so by a scene of blood and fire."

"A true Dragon," Drogo agreed.

After that eventful interlude the festivities continued, although Drogo did note that his wife's heart was no longer in it. Snake or not, Viserys had been blood of her blood and it was only because of this that he ordered a respectful, proper Dothraki burial the next morning. Because he loved her.

The Moon of his Life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I know that this prophesy is not actually about Rhaego in the books. I myself subscribe to the theory it is about Daenerys herself because in the Dothraki culture they are sexist and do not see what is right before their eyes._
> 
> __"Fierce as a storm this prince will be" _? Sound like any one we know? Aside from 'prince' of course, as it is later pointed out this is a flaw in translation from the original Valerian where it could just as easily refer to a 'princess', so I'm pretty sure this refers to our Stormborn Khaleesi._
> 
> _But for the sake of the story please lets just go along with the more straightforward (although not as interesting) theory that it was actually about Rhaego._


	4. Interlude: A Dance of Dreams

* * *

#  **Slight Interlude:**  


#  _A Dance of Dreams_

* * *

_For a moment the winds howled and raged, laced with shards of sand that brushed her face as she blinked to protect her eyes._

_When she opened them again she was in a large, red bricked room which she felt should have been familiar, but it was not. There before her sat a man with hair, a matching white-gold to her own, that lay about his shoulders as the once more gentle breeze brushed through it and carried the scent of incense and perfume to her nostrils. He turned to her, his eyes mirroring her own and she saw that in his arms lay a newborn child. There was something in his face which drew her, blood calling to blood, and she had to turn away for a second to shield herself from the raw emotions coursing through her veins._

_"Aegon, my son," he whispered with awe as he stroked the boy's face with a long, slender finger. "The Prince that was promised."_

_Her heart tightened as her suspicions were confirmed, this man holding the boy was her late brother Rhaegar. The tender scene before her was bitter-sweet, bile on her tongue, as she knew the truth of that infant's fate. Daenerys shuddered. Slowly, she walked over as the man started to play the harp, a smile on his face as he strummed the sweet, familiar lullaby. She was shocked to see the child's face for he appeared to have Drogo's colouring and fierce eyebrows as well as her platinum hair and violet eyes._

_"Rhaego!" she gasped placing a hand protectively over her stomach._

_The man turned to her once more, his face serene as he held her gaze. "The Prince that was promised," he repeated, never ceasing his lilting melody._

_Then the man before her morphed into her own husband, wielding an arakh in place of the harp. They were now in a wide open field and she stood by a small wooden cot as she watched Drogo swing the blade with practised ease, before laying down the weapon to hover over the crib, his eyes brimming with pride._

_"The Stallion who Mounts the World," he whispered as he reached down to touch the infant, stroking its face with a rough, leathery finger in an uncanny repeat of the man she had watched before. The sight made her blood run cold and she turned to flee, not able to face what her brain was telling her._

_Suddenly this reality was shattered, broken into a thousand fragments of glass, as fragile as the promises that prophesies rode on, and she flinched as it was replaced with an old witch who cackled with glee._

_Images flashed before her eyes and she tried to shy away but could not escape the pieces of the puzzle as they tumbled into her mind._

_An infant smashed against a wall as his brains dripped down to the floor and his cries were silenced; the tears of dragons as the city outside was burned to the ground; the wails of women and children beaten and raped in the streets. A promise broken. Words scattered to the far corners of the earth never to be fulfilled, mocking the willingness of mortals to desperately cling onto what was whispered in the whim of one moment of fate._

_The laughter of the witch echoed around her and she tried to cover her ears but nothing could protect from the haunting sounds. The witch's eyes were shining with madness as she danced around a fire, throwing in small figures and watching them turn to ash. Daenerys recognised the figures and reeled back in horror. The smoke choked her, burning her lungs and bringing tears to her eyes, yet the witch seemed unaffected._

_An infant's wails pierced the cackles as, from the smoke surrounding her, images formed of a dragon mating with a wolf in a frenzy of passion, an age old song of ice and fire, soon giving way to an age old tragedy._

_"Aegon," whispered the voice from before, "The Prince who was promised."_

_"No!" she tried to call, but the winds whipped away her cries as she watched yet again as the child was beaten to death, the sounds of passion coming from the dragon and the wolf drowning out the sounds of the baby as its little fire was extinguished forever._

_Just as she began to calm herself, Daenerys saw the images formed with the witch's smoke blur and when they became clear once more the sight shook her to her very core. For instead of the dragon mating with the wolf, she saw a dragon riding a stallion and the words of her own child's prophesy may as well have took to flames before her._

_"Aegon, my son." the words caressed her as she watched the dragon and stallion in horror, "the Prince who was promised."_

_"The prince is riding, and he shall be the stallion who mounts the world," a dragon with three heads growled as it blew reams of flame towards the image of the stallion, igniting the smoke and surrounding her with a wall of fire that licked at her skin._

_Until all that she was left with was a pile of ashes and smoke and traces of salt on her cheeks where the fire had evaporated her tears._

Daenerys woke up in a cold sweat, gasping for air to quell the feeling of burning in her lungs.

It was just a dream, she told herself, nothing more.

Yet she could not help the chill that ran down her spine as she pictured the face of the cackling witch or her brother and his child.

"Rhaego," she whispered, clutching at her belly protectively. What if he was destined to be a victim of fate, just like her nephew Aegon? What if it was her love of Drogo which killed him, in the same way her brother's obsession with the Stark girl became a death sentence for his own young family?

She calmed her breathing and stared at the profile of her husband as he lay sleeping, softly illuminated by the light of the moon. He was handsome and fierce, caring and passionate, a lover and a warrior; he was her Sun and Stars. She loved him.

How could she ever choose between him and the unborn child she carried?

_You are a Targaryen,_ the voice inside her spoke with authority, _your son is a Targaryen. Nothing else matters._

She was about to argue, but could not find the words. All she knew was that this time the voice was wrong.

Drogo _did_ matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a short, odd chapter, I just wanted to explore the whole dreams aspect of A Song of Ice and Fire and I really hope this worked. It was kinda fun to play around with but don't worry, we will be back to the action in the next chappy.


	5. Vod Chafaan

* * *

#  **Chapter three:**  


#  _Vod Chafaan_ \- "Dust to the Wind" (R.I.P.)

* * *

Daenerys walked down the Lhazareen streets, fighting to keep her poise in the face of the angry, accusing eyes of the children and women who watched her every move.

Khal Drogo, fighting to raise finance for her cause, had been victorious and crushed Khal Ogo and his Khalasar into dust beneath their feet, leaving this city of Lhazar defenceless and providing them with a whole array of slaves to trade to fund their war. Her heart should have been surging with pride and elation at such a sight, seeing the faces of all these people they had conquered as invaluable assets to help her regain her name, yet under the gaze of those cold, sullen expressions she felt lost.

If this was the taste of glory, the promised elixir which conquering nations thrived on, it held an after taste which was stale and dry on her tongue.

Seeing her men loot the houses of these "lamb men", as they were referred to among the Dothraki, while the owners tried in vain to resist against such powerful warriors caused her chest to tighten in sympathy. This was not how she had envisioned reclaiming her rightful throne. While she had always known war and politics were far from pleasant, the exploitation of innocents to further her own ends just would not sit well with her.

Interrupting her thoughts, the cries and whimpers of women reached her ears and she paled, eyes darting around to find the source and her instincts screamed at to intervene as she saw the scenes of gang rape in the pens to either side of the road. Young girls and old women, none were exempt. Was this the Dothraki way? Was this what she had unleashed upon these people? Was this the price of her crown?

_"I would let his whole tribe fuck you, all forty thousand men and their horses too, if that's what it took to regain my crown little sister."_ Her mind taunted her with the words of her brother and a wave of rage welled up inside her. _No! I shall not tolerate such behaviour._ The fire inside her lashed out, her eyes blazing with fury as she rushed up to the scene closest to her and held up a hand imperiously, her heart hammering loudly inside her chest as she faced down a member of her khalasar.

"Stop, these women are not for you," she spoke calmly, her tone was that of ice while her soul burned with conviction.

Realising it was them that their Khaleesi was addressing, the group of Dothraki men stopped what they were doing and glared at the intrusion, outraged that this woman did not know her place. What was Khal Drogo thinking allowing his wench to question their ways in this manner?!

"This is man's war, man must take prize. Khaleesi stays out of this matter," one of the men growled, his eyebrows knit together as he weighed up the tiny female before him. He was slightly surprised to find that, instead of cowering before him like he had expected from such a frail thing, she lifted her chin higher and met his gaze with eyes which spoke of a power and authority that had him bowing his head to her in awe, without even intending to.

"I claim these women as slaves, they belong to me." her voice was as sharp as Valyrian steel. "You shall not touch them."

Hoping to find some sanity in their proud leader where his woman was obviously lacking, the angry riders at once stalked away to where he was sitting several feet away. So agitated over being deprived of their rights by a woman were they, that they found it difficult to put into words just what had happened. Khal Drogo calmed them and wandered back towards his wife with the warriors in tow, hoping to get to the bottom of this issue and resume his own celebrations.

Upon hearing both sides of the story he became annoyed, while he had only engaged in the usual rape of conquered women as a bachelor and did not feel the need nor desire to do so now that he had his Khaleesi, he knew how important such rights were for keeping his men satisfied. To challenge their ability to take the women as they saw fit would be detrimental to the Khalasar's morale. His khaleesi would have to learn they did not command a tribe of monks...

He was about to dismiss Daenerys' decision with a wave and a swift order for the festivities to continue, maybe explain to her that this was how wars worked and then take her himself as he needed to feel the pleasure of a woman now, as all men did after the heat of a battle, when something stopped him. It was as he looked to his young wife's large, beautiful eyes and saw the righteous anger for and deep compassion towards these conquered wretches that he could not help but feel surges of admiration that she would fight in this manner for what she felt so strongly about. She gazed up at him, her violet eyes blazing with passion, and he could not resist the earnest plea he saw there.

If this was what the Moon of his Life asked of him, he would not refuse.

"My Khaleesi speaks true," he declared, much to the surprise and horror of his men. "Do not touch these women. Pay for whores if you are so desperate." With that he tossed a coin of silver, worth a few whores, in their direction and stalked off to oversee the counting of livestock.

However, before he could depart he was challenged to a battle by one of the men and became severely wounded. All he could see in his mind's eye was the look of pure love in his wife's eyes as he backed her up. Did she not know that he would change the laws of gravity for her, if only she asked? He fought and won, despite his injury, against the worm who had claimed Drogo was becoming too weak to lead, never seeing his opponent as he cut him down, only seeing her eyes.

Her beautiful, exotic, violet eyes.

Daenerys watched in shock as one of Drogo's own men called him incompetent, or rather, he used a not so polite Dothraki term, and claimed he was not fit to rule since he was showing weakness in letting his whore hold too much influence. She seethed on both of their behalf's and felt a secret thrill when Drogo began to water the ground with his blood.

As they danced with their blades, hair flying and eyes cold, she felt trapped. Part of her longed to scream, yet a large bubble in her throat choked down any sound she tried to make. Part of her longed to flee as she could not watch her Sun and Stars get injured, yet her limbs would not obey her. She was rooted to the spot, eyes captivated by the poised, skillful way her husband flirted with death at the point of an arakh.

Without knowing it she was holding her breath.

Until something else caught her eye, something which almost made her heart stop and her blood run cold.

The women who she had stopped the men from raping now watched the fight with a small smirk playing about her lips, her eyes dark and sharp as they followed the movements of the fighters. Daenerys had seen that face before, it was the woman from her dream, the cackling witch.

Her head spun and she saw blood, smelt it, could feel it burning her from the inside as it tried to consume her. She could taste it, the metallic flavour as she ate the raw stallion's heart, the bile which rose as she fought it down. She felt Rhaego quicken inside of her, as if screaming and pounding his way out, frantic.

Who was this woman?

She could feel blood licking at her like flames, singeing her skin. It was at this moment that she saw the battle was over, Drogo had won. She felt dizzy with relief, of course he had won, he was her Sun and Stars and his braid had never been cut. Who could challenge him and not be trod into the dirt?

As he turned back to her, an expression in his eyes which washed over her and quickened her bloodbeat, she was shocked to see a large gash across his chest. He had been hit.

She rushed into his arms and he held her close, glaring over her head at all who may also chose to defy him after speaking for his woman. None came forward, he had once more won their respect, but more importantly he had once more won his Khaleesi's heart and for that he would give up his whole Khalasar if he needed to. To give her up was unimaginable.

"You are wounded," she breathed against his chest disjointedly, as if she was struggling to speak out such words.

"A scratch, Moon of my Life," he stroked her hair as the throbs of pain became more prominent now that the adrenaline was beginning to wear off. _A sign I fought for you,_ he thought with pride, _I shall wear it and remember this day where I honoured my Khaleesi._

But Daenerys was not convinced. Drogo began leaning more of his weight on her than he ever usually would, his breathing became more laboured and she could feel the warm blood seeping down his chest between them. She began to half lead, half carry him back to their tent causing him to smirk, believing her to have motives of the flesh and she nearly laughed at his priorities. It was slow going but she managed to get him laid out on their bunch of animal skins where she could begin to tend to him. The fact he barely fought back against her fussing over him was a bad sign.

Maybe among the conquered is a healer, she thought as she examined his wound and saw that it was festering. This was getting beyond her simple skills and she desperately needed help. She called Irri and Jhiqui and ordered them to ask around among the Lhazar for a skilled healer, promising they and their family would be under her protection from the Dothraki if they assisted her husband.

Minutes later, panting and red in the face, they returned with the woman from earlier, the one from her dream. Daenerys turned to greet them and froze, terror gripping her momentarily as images from that night weeks ago once more bombarded her. The one woman she feared to trust, this was the best healer they could find?!

She realised she was staring with mouth agape when there was no time to be wasted, so she decided to push her thoughts to one side for now and see what this woman could do. While she would be wary around her at all times, she would not prevent her from rendering assistance that could save her husband's life. Although at the first sign of trouble she would burn this Lhazar to death with no hesitation, such was the panic and confusion rushing through her mind that she would order an execution based on a dream.

Because when it came to the safety of her husband and son she would take no chances.

Rhaego kicked violently as she invited the woman to see Drogo's wound and she could have sworn she heard a strange thrumming sound coming from the three dragon eggs in the corner of the room. She frowned, now was not the time to start losing her composure, Drogo needed her at her best, not lost in her own imagination.

"It is badly infected," the woman pronounced, her wild hair and yellowed teeth shining in the light of the candles. "I shall need to apply a paste."

At this moment Qotho, one of Drogo's trusted blood rider, entered the tent in a rage. "I saw this _maegi_ led in here and demand you keep her away from Khal Drogo, she is not fit to kiss his feet!" he snarled, pointing at the woman who met his anger with a calm gaze.

Daenerys felt a shiver up her spine as she heard the woman referred to as a _maegi_ , a practitioner of blood magic. It fit in too well with her role in the dream. She almost sided with Qotho, so close to throwing her out of the tent and out of her sight, yet wondered if such actions caused the witch to curse her family, resulting in the dream she had experienced.

Was shunning this woman the foolish mistake the dream warned against? Or was trusting her? She decided to do neither.

"If she can heal him, let her." Daenerys spoke calmly, despite the sound of blood pounding in her ears.

"You're making a mistake!" he growled angrily.

Maybe he was right, she thought as she watched him storm out of her tent, maybe either way was a mistake. She placed a hand protectively over her stomach and watched as the _maegi_ set to work.

Was there any right course of action she could have taken? Maybe she would never know.


	6. Vod Chafaan (Part Two)

* * *

#  **Chapter Four:**  


#  _Vod Chafaan (Part Two)_ \- "Dust to the Wind" (R.I.P.)

* * *

Daenerys entered the tent a while later to be greeted by the putrid smell of charred flesh. However, while her first instinct was to grimace as her senses recoiled in horror, the moment she saw Drogo's face as he attempted to sit up in his bed of mats and cloaks she could not stop the huge smile from spreading across her face, believing him to be, at that moment, the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. The unguents that were now heavily applied to his wound gave out a herbal scent which caught at the back of her throat as she fell to her knees before him. Tears blurred her eyes as she drank in the sight of his face, pale and drawn, and his eyes; those fierce, dark, passionate windows into his beautiful soul.

"My sun and stars, you rise for me once more?" she choked out the words, her relief pouring out from every pore in her body.

How could she ever have believed he could die, this beast of a man who would challenge even death itself and not stop until he had claimed his victory? This conqueror, whose braids had never been cut in testament to the fact he could not be defeated, least of all by a mere flesh wound. How could she have been so foolish as to allow herself to fear for her proud and mighty warrior king?

"Always, moon of my life," he rasped.

She chose not to see how he winced in pain as the movement of speech jarred him. He reached out, his face paling slightly at the effort, and gently stroked her face, brushing away a tear she hadn't felt escape.

"No," he said quietly, oh so quietly, as the leathery pad of his large thumb caressed her face, just as it had done all those moons ago during their wedding night.

A sob threatened to overwhelm her but she fiercely pushed it down, refusing to show weakness in front of her khal.

"We ride now," he said softly as his eyes lit with fever and his teeth flashed in that reckless, feral grin which she loved so much. The same grin her would often use on her when he wanted her body, the same grin he would use before thrashing off into the dessert on a new campaign, the grin which turned her knees to jelly as it excited her heart and melted it all at once.

"He needs rest," the maegi woman interrupted from the corner of the tent where she prepared more of her pastes and unguents.

"No," Drogo spat angrily at the woman. "We ride."

She just shrugged, her small calculating eyes appraising him. She said no more but her very presence still managed to send a chill up Daenerys' spine.

Qotho entered the tent, having heard Drogo's voice, and for a while she was forgotten in their preparations for travel. Drogo looked gaunt, worn to his very limit, yet he sat tall and proud, allowing her to glimpse the unbeatable spirit within him and its firm resilience. It was truly remarkable.

As Qotho left, with a backwards glare of distaste for her and for the maegi, Drogo allowed the raise of his shoulders to slump slightly and took her tiny hand in his. It was not the Dothraki custom to hold hands, but she had attempted it with him from time to time and occasionally he would oblige. This would usually be after a particularly tender love making, as they lay side by side in the quiet of their tent with their hearts beating faster and the sweat drying on their skin, wrapped up in the rapture of their blissfully contented daze. He had never initiated such a display, until now, and she found herself clinging tightly to his rough hand as if anchoring him in this life.

"Rest for a moment, my sun and stars," she brushed her lips over his forehead as tenderly as if he were a child as he lay himself heavily back down on his mat. "For soon we ride once more in your glorious victory."

Daenerys knelt by her husbands side, grasping his hand in her own and watching each rise and fall of his chest as if willing strength back into him. She refused to leave her place, despite her servants begging her to have a rest, and sent away all food and drink as she could not stomach them while Drogo lay there so weak.

An hour or so later Qotho returned, having made the arrangements for the whole of the Khalasar to move out. All that remained was for Drogo to mount his stallion and they would be set to get underway. It was times like this that Daenerys was truly grateful for Qotho's loyalty to her husband and for his diligence in his duty, in the way he served Drogo she knew she could not ask for a better right hand man. She just wished he would not continue to refused to accept her. While she knew this could not be changed for now, she was determined she would win him over in time.

She roused Drogo gently and he sat up, with huge effort.

"Are you ready, my khal?" Qotho asked, his voice rough but his eyes kind as they appraised his friend.

"Of course," Drogo snapped, resenting the looks he was receiving from his woman and now his friend.

With difficulty he pushed himself to stand, the movement causing fresh blood and pus to leak through the heavily applied paste. Drogo showed no sign of noticing this, though, staring stoically at the tent flaps before him as he made his way, step by painful step, towards them. He could hear his trusty stallion waiting for him just beyond it and forced his body to respond to his will, striding as powerfully as he could manage and making sure to hold his chin up high.

Daenerys longed to help him, seeing through the sweat pouring off his back and the clench of his muscles the effort it took him even just to walk. Yet she would never disrespect him so, no matter how her heart broke for him.

Qotho gave a curt nod, seeing Drogo walking upright and open the tent flaps for himself. He looked sickly, it was true, but he held himself tall and proud, like a warrior, and this was all that mattered. He would heal, he always did.

The heat beat down on the Dothraki khalasar as they rode away from Lazareen.

Daenerys longed to fan herself, but knew such an indulgence would be seen as a sign of weakness. That was not the way of the Dothraki, especially not their queen, and so she rode on, sweat trickling in rivulets down her spine, on her brow and down her sides. The land seemed to stretch out endlessly before them, showing no signs of letting up from the harsh desert conditions. No lakes, no springs. Not that, after all this time, she expected such things.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Khal Drogo sway in his seat slightly, something he never did.

She turned to face him and almost cried out loud to see his face, which was usually so focused yet was now struggling to keep upright, with eyes so dazed she wondered if he could see his horse's mane before him. His head lolled to the side and she threw out an arm in a futile attempt to stop him falling, beyond caring how it would look to the other Dothraki, but she was well out of range and before her very eyes he keeled over in his saddle, falling as if in slow motion to the dust at his horse's feet.

He landed with a dull thud and blood rushed in her ears as she felt herself crying out. She willed him to get up, her mind screaming for him to just move a little bit, yet he just lay there. Seconds passed which felt like an eternity, and still he did not stir. She was vaguely aware of the other riders who had stopped their horses to watch as she bolted off hers and ran to his side, begging him to rise in a way which, no doubt, was unseemly for a khaleesi.

She was beyond caring.

After what could have been minutes or a millennia, Qotho stooped down, pried her hands away from him and deftly lifted her husband into his arms like a sack of vegetables. She got to her feet, her legs feeling clumsy as if they refused to fully acknowledge her commands, and followed with awkward movements as his best friend carried the body of her husband to a tent which had been constructed speedily by his men.

She was vaguely aware of the heads that bobbed in a symbol of respect to the khal as they passed.

"Vod chafaan," they whispered, the words being snatched by the slight breeze. She did not recognise the meaning of this saying, but the sentiment was clear. They were honouring his passing, and hearing this bile rose in her throat.

Don't you dare honour his death, she wanted to scream at them wildly, he can't be killed!

Instead she just walked silently behind Qotho, powerless to stop their mourning words any more than she could stop Drogo's decline. A Queen should not be powerless, she fumed as anger at the situation boiled over. There must be a way. She must make a way.

As Qotho lay Drogo tenderly on the mats, he kissed his forehead in the most tender display she had ever seen the imposing warrior make and mumbled the same words; "vod chafaan, brother."

He then closed Drogo's flickering eyes with a gentle movement of his fingertips and gave Drogo a heartfelt warrior's salute which moved her, before leaving her alone in the tent with him.

"Drogo, my sun and stars," she ran her hands over his arm and felt the tears flow freely now, where no one could see them and pass judgement. "Please come back, don't leave me."

He stirred slightly and with effort he opened his unfocused, glazed over eyes to look upon her with a heartrendingly tender expression. "Moon of my life, do not fret. My son comes for you, he will be your strength."

"He needs you," she pleaded, shaking with the effort not to sob like a common wife. Queens may shed a tear but they never wailed.

An answering kick arose in her belly and she gasped.

"Drogo, it's our son, he moves for you," she laughed through tear blurred eyes and placed his hand gently onto her belly. There was another kick, this time more fierce, followed by another.

Drogo laughed, coughing weakly afterwards and smiling up at her with the most loving expression she had ever seen on his face. "The stallion that mounts the world," he rasped, tears forming in his own eyes, "my son."

She squeezed his hand and nodded, fighting hard to keep her composure as she looked into his eyes.

"Our son," he corrected himself softly after a moment as his eyelids fluttered shut once more. His facial muscles relaxed as an expression of peace fell across them.

She was losing him, she panicked. Then an idea came clearly in her mind, the _maegi_ , she could use blood magic. Everyone knew blood magic could work miracles, at a cost. And whatever the cost was, she would pay it.

Her son kicked frantically once more, as if in distress, but she shook her head and ignored him. Ignored the feeling of ice in her stomach at the thought of the _maegi_ 's magic.

Whatever the cost...

"My sun and stars," she shook him gently until his eyelids opened slightly, "the _maegi_ , she could save you. I am willing to use blood magic, I can't lose you."

Under her hand Drogo shuddered and the baby inside her jerked about in turmoil at her words.

He then opened his eyes fully, pain flitting across his face in place of the peace that had settled there moments before.

"No," he said simply. It was not an order, she knew as his eyes connected with hers, it was a plea. She relaxed her grip on his hand, not having realised just how tight she was holding him until she let go and saw the red imprint marks her fingers had made.

"No," another voice, one which was unfamiliar yet alluring, also pleaded with her and she shuddered as her mind began to play over images of the dream she had all that time ago. All the while a soft crooning echoed in her mind as if willing her not to make the wrong choice, since she knew now with certainty what the 'wrong choice' was, and while it would kill her to live without her khal she almost dreaded the alternative more.

She was convinced.

"No," she agreed, giving him up with a final breath she did not know she had been holding. The frantic kicking in her womb ceased upon hearing her.

He smiled slightly and nodded, before allowing his head to loll back, all expression leaving his face as he exhaled for the last time.

This time she could not prevent the sobs that racked her small body as she threw herself over him and wept. She wept with rage for her loss, for her baby's loss and for the uncertainty of their future now without him to protect them. When, after a while, she was finally spent and felt hollow inside, she picked herself up and kissed him tenderly on his cold, stiff lips one last time.

"I love you, my sun and stars," she whispered into his ear before she picked herself up and brushed the dirt from the hem and knees of her dress. "Vod chafaan."

She scrubbed the traces of tears from her face roughly and left the tent.

"He is gone," she managed to address the gathered dothraki without her voice trembling.

They bobbed their heads in respect and went about preparations for his body while she stood there, numb in the centre of their bustle. Before long she wandered to her horse and found herself stroking the three dragon eggs, as if for comfort. They hummed, a reverberation which thrummed through her entire body and she sighed.

_"You are safe, our brother,"_ the soothing chorus of voices reassured the unborn Rhaego, who sent back waves of appreciation. _"We sent our mother the dream and she knew what not to do."_

_"Yet she still suggested it,"_ Rhaego mused, puzzled.

_"Because love is irrational,"_ they explained. _"Which is why we also spoke to the father, our glorious deceased."_

_I guess that makes sense,_ Rhaego nodded, _so it was really my father and my brothers who saved me. I am glad I felt his touch, he was wise and brave, all that I hope to become. As well as powerful, which I already know I am._

_"I grow impatient to meet you, dear brothers,"_ he stirred in the womb restlessly, sick of his confines.

_"There is not long to wait now, dear one,"_ they sent back, along with excited feelings of their imminent awakening.

He threw back his own feelings of anticipation and smiled. _"The world will make a fun playground for us, I am sure."_

_"Yes,"_ they chuckled heartily. _"It will be ours for the taking, little one."_

_'The stallion who mounts the world'; this is what they named me even before my birth. I can sense the greatness flowing through my veins. Yet, the people of my father lack understanding of all I will be for they ride only puny stallions, yet I shall ride dragons. I can feel the dragon blood running through my soul, and it is in this way I shall mount the world. Not a stallion, but a Targaryen in truth. We shall reshape this world in our image, with fire and blood. Make it better. Make it sing, like we do to each other._

_Dragons have been dead for too long, the time has finally come to revive their supremacy once more. They were never meant to be relegated to be beasts of legend, they were born to rule the three realms of land, sea and sky. Together that is what we shall do, my brothers and I._

His mind tingled as he felt the same thoughts echoed from his brothers.

_"Soon, so soon,"_ they sang in their captivating melody, and he eagerly joined in.


	7. Born of Blood and Fire

* * *

#  **Chapter Five:**  


#  _Born of Blood and Fire_

* * *

Daenerys stared with impotent horror gripping her chest as they built the funeral pyre stack by stack. The khalasar worked long into the night to make this the grandest pyre anyone had ever seen. Yet she just stood there and watched, unable to even lift a hand to help them as they made their tribute to honour her husband. She stood as still as granite, her expression regal in its distant sorrow. She shed no more tears, her body had none left to give, but as they began to light the stacks of twigs and deadwood she felt the heat evaporate the remnants of tears long shed from her cheeks, leaving only a faint trail of salt down her face as she stared into the flames.

No one approached her, scurrying around her if they needed to pass and leaving her to her distant musing as if afraid to enter into her bubble of depression.

The flames caressed her as they grew and their heat soothed something deep in her soul.

She watched as they raised Drogo onto the flames, whereupon immediately the fire ate through his clothes before settling down to devour the rest of him lazily. The smell assaulted her nostrils and she took a shaking breath to calm herself as the flames licked at the skin on his face, causing it to crackle.

* * *

_"The time is now," the dragons hummed as their eggs shook in excitement at the thought of being free._

_"Now?" Rhaego questioned, not quite believing his luck._

_"Now," they assured him. "The fire is set for our hatching, we must summon the mother and she will know what to do."_

_"Do it!" he cried ecstatically, pounding the walls of the womb hoping to help his brothers capture her attention. Mother, please hear me. Do what you have to do. I can't wait to greet you and see my brothers with my own eyes for the first time._

_"We look forward to seeing your real face, too," they sent back. He could feel the anticipation emanating off them in waves and his own heartbeat quickened in response. They were so close now, he could almost taste the outside world._

_Mother, please hurry._

_He kicked again for good measure. Hard._

* * *

Daenerys felt the kicking in her womb only moments before the strange humming sound crooned through her mind once more. It wanted something. She shook her head and focused on her husband's funeral rites stubbornly. This was important.

 _"Yes it is important, dear mother,"_ the unfamiliar voice wormed its way to the front of her thoughts and she stiffened. Where did it come from? She saw no one close enough for such an intimate whisper.

 _"We are your children,"_ it explained, _"we need you to hatch us now."_

Hatch? Her mind whirred as the image of the three beautiful dragon eggs was placed into her thoughts gently.

Impossible.

 _"No, we are not impossible,"_ the insistent tones were backed with a feeling of urgency. _"But we need you now, dear mother."_

 _"Why? What is it you need?"_ she asked the question in her thoughts, hoping they would hear.

They sent another image to her mind, this one more vivid and startling. They told her what they wanted of her and she recoiled in horror. _"No, I cannot. I would die._

 _"We will not allow that to happen,"_ the voices sounded weaker now, almost pleading. _"Please, hurry, we cannot sustain this much longer."_

Her baby delivered a large kick to the inside of her womb and she almost gasped in shock at its force.

 _"But my baby,"_ she sent back as she imagined the damage this could do to him.

 _"He is our brother, this will not harm him. You have our promise."_ With that she felt the thread of connection the eggs had created to her mind fall away, flickering slightly before being severed completely. She tried to grasp after it frantically but failed and found herself panic at feeling the emptiness surround her yet again. She had lost Drogo but she would be damned if she lost them too. Something about their whispered words had filled her with strength and purpose, and she hurried to do their bidding before it was too late and she was alone once more.

* * *

Running quickly to the horse satchel where the eggs were kept, attracting many glances from the khalasar while she was at it, she gathered the precious objects into her arms, finding they balanced well on top of her bump, and made straight for the pyre.

"Forgive me, Rhaego," she whispered before leaping into the flames amidst gasps from those around her.

The unbearable heat which she had been anticipating the moment the flames touched her flesh never came, in its place was only an invigorating fire which stoked her soul and caused her to gasp in shock. Within moments the feeling of flames, which were not at all unpleasant, encompassed her and she felt a severe pressure on her stomach. A shuddering pain leaped through her, followed by another and she cried out, laying a hand on her belly.

He was coming.

At the same time the eggs, now laid on the pyre beside her, began to chip slightly.

As the next contraction racked her body, far more violently than the first. This was it. She smiled widely and opened her arms in release, giving herself freely to the flames which consumed her.

* * *

The gathered Dothraki watched in awe as the flames gave way to cinders and their khaleesi was revealed seated in the middle of where the fire had once burned strong, a newborn babe at her breast and three lizard like creatures with wings clung to her charcoal blackened body. As she looked up to meet the gaze of her people one of the lizards bared its teeth at them and hissed, tendrils of smoke rising from its tiny nostrils.

"Khaleesi," they murmured in reverence.

She rose gracefully from the ashes, naked except for a covering of dust, yet she did not shy away from the eyes of the people, instead she stood tall and proud, nursing her child before men. Shameless and beautiful and fierce.

Jorah the Andal stepped forward and bowed low. "My Queen, what does this mean?"

"It means that I am no longer merely Daenerys Stormborn, khaleesi to this tribe," she looked up to him and smiled with a new found self assurance. "I am Daenerys Mother of Dragons."

A hush descended at her words. While many of the gathered tribesmen did not understanding what a dragon was, they were able to tell the significance of these words by her bearing.

Jorah, however, was fully aware of what a dragon was and gasped, falling to his knees before her.

"It is not possible," he shook his head but his voice held a note of question.

"I think you will find it is," she smiled fondly at the green dragon currently stationed on her right shoulder. "These dragons are my children, brothers to the babe who is my son. The prince Rhaego."

"My Queen," he bowed low once more and looked for the first time at the boy in her arms, "my prince."

Daenerys nodded and lay a filth covered hand on his shoulder, meeting his eyes kindly. "We are fulfilling a far greater destiny than I had ever dreamed of, Jorah. Will you join us?"

"I am by your side always," he straightened up and took in the sight of her with pride. She was no longer the timid girl he had met all those months ago, she was a woman worthy of the line of Targaryens and he was honoured to be in her service. "This one is a true Targaryen indeed," softly tapping the babe's forehead and chuckling, "born of fire and blood."

She nodded and gave him her winning smile.

"You must be tired," he offered her his arm and she took it gratefully, allowing him to lead her to the tent where her husband had breathed his last. Once inside she lay down on the furs and let out a sigh of relief. Jorah excused himself with one last backwards glance at his Queen.

"Khaleesi, shall I take your son now?" Jhiqui asked softly, entering the tent as Jorah departed.

"No," Daenerys frowned, "he stays with me. They all stay with me."

"Then let me at least wash you all," Jhiqui pressed, "please."

Daenerys was weary and wanted nothing more than to be left in peace with her new family, yet she realised when she looked to her hands and arms that she was filthy from the fire and would need to bathe before she could allow herself to rest. Rhaegar too was covered in layers of sweat, blood and charcoal which needed seeing to.

She sighed heavily. "Bring me a tub of boiling water and then leave us," she ordered finally.

Jhiqui bowed and left to do her mistress's bidding.

"Welcome to this world, my dear children," she said softly to the dragons and baby as she held them all close.

 _"Our thanks, mother,"_ the now familiar thrum of voices reverberated in her mind. She smiled to feel the return of that comforting thread which attached her to the dragons and had previously been severed. She reached out with her mind and sent strong feelings of warmth and affection towards them, and they responded in kind as they curled around her closely. Rhaego, too, stirred as if he could feel the exchanged and wanted to be a part of it.

The copper tub was brought after a little while. Steam danced above the water and Daenerys gathered her children to carry them over to the water where they could bathe together.

 _"Delightful,"_ the creamy white dragon sent, shivering slightly with anticipation for the heat.

Slowly, carefully, Daenerys immersed them all in the boiling water and sighed, feeling the tension leave her body and the filth sluice away as the water enveloped her body. Rhaego squirmed happily as he was lowered gently into the water, feeling its heat refresh his senses as he took his bearings in this strange new world. The dragons swam playfully, feeling out the budding strength in their limbs as they paddled and submerged themselves.

While they lay there and soaked in the water Daenerys reached out tentatively with her mind. _"What shall I call you?"_ she asked her dragons.

_"Our names are yours to decide, you are our mother who brought us into this world."_

_"Very well,"_ she thought for a moment. _"I would like to name one of you after Drogo, I shall call him 'Drogon'."_

The largest of the dragons, his scales black with red markings, flexed his wings. _"I would accept this honour,"_ he declared.

Daenerys nodded, it was a good match. She believed, had Drogo been the one to choose a dragon for his namesake, this would have been his choice.

 _"Greetings Drogon,"_ she sent a wave of admiration and love through their bond and he quivered slightly. _"I would also like to name one after my brother Viserys, not for the man he was but for the man I wish he had been. He was my brother and I would like to give his name to someone worthy. I shall call them by the name of 'Viserion'."_

The creamy dragon with gold markings sent a flood of acceptance, _"I will do this name proud, mother."_

Her heart caught in her throat for a moment and she nodded, sending waves of gratitude in return.

_"Lastly I would like to honour my mother, who died birthing me and was a truly formidable woman. 'Rhaellath'. Will you accept this name?" _she looked at the final dragon before her, the tiny, green scaled one with bronze markings.__

__"I shall."_ _

_Daenerys did not realise then the honour involved in the naming of a dragon, but it was done and all involved were satisfied. She felt the thrum of approval rushing through them as they became accustomed to their new identities. She smiled and gently wiped all traces of dirt from each of them before scooping them out of the tub and carrying them back to the bundle of furs where they lay down to rest. Before long they were all sleeping deeply and dreaming their first conjoined dream._

_The were one now, even in dreams. They were a family._

* * *

__"Brother, we are free,"_ the voices rang out in his mind in the moments before sleep as they all lay on the furs next to the mother._

__"You did it,"_ he returned joyfully. _"We are free indeed. It is strange though,"_ he frowned, _"I did not imagine I would be so unable to function. I cannot walk as you do, nor talk. Why is this?"__

_A chuckle met his words. _"Humans mature slowly, in time you will run with us. In time we shall fly together."__

__"Yes,"_ Rhaego smiled at the image they sent to his mind's eye of flying, an image no doubt dredged from their ancestral memory as they had not yet flown in this short lifetime._

_But they sensed his impatience. _"We shall help you develop quicker, to be like us,"_ they offered._

__"You can do that?"_ he asked, amazed once more at the wonders of those he called brothers._

__"We can,"_ they replied. _"And for you, we shall."__

_He felt their focus on him intensify and a warmth spread through his tiny limbs as they set to work on fixing him._

__"Thank you,"_ he sent with a wave of gratitude, before sleep took him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I may have changed one of the dragons' names, I also want them to be female (for later-to-be revealed reasons) so instead of Rhaegal it will be [female] Rhaellath. This is named after her mother, I opted for this rather than an Aerys themed name just because I wanted the female, not because I have anything against Aerys, aside from his madness.


	8. Interlude Two: Drogo's Song

* * *

#  **Interlude Two:**  


#  _Drogo's Song_

* * *

_In their dreams that night Drogo visited them, his spirit unable to pass over before he had seen his son with his own eyes._

_Daenerys found herself gliding towards the tent which they had shared since their marriage, the flaps wafting invitingly before her as a soft humming came from inside. It was a tune she recognised, a tune which caused her heart to lurch. It was his song. When she had first told Drogo of her pregnancy he had begun to softly hum it to her growing belly each night before she slept, and while the words had always remained a mystery to her the tenderness in his eyes had been easily readable. She shivered as it washed over her, this same melodic noise that beckoned to her from inside their marital tent. Surely none of this could be, her mind cautioned, for her husband was dead._

_A hot tear fell down her cheek before she could stop it._

_Suddenly she was inside the tent, although she did not recall moving willingly towards the bittersweet music it contained, and the scene which greeted her was truly beautiful. Drogo sat stooped over a small child's cot, singing softly and brushing the dark wisps of hair on their son's small head. The dragons also seemed to be joining their voices to the haunting melody; Viserion and Rhaellath perched protectively on the cot while Drogon rested proudly on the shoulder of his namesake. The whole scene had a fuzzy quality to it but even this, the fact it was clearly not real, could not stop her from staggering over to embrace the strong, muscle knotted back of the man she had loved._

_"My sun and stars," she gasped as he turned his eyes, alight with joy, to her._

_"I have come to see you, moon of my life, before I go." He spoke softly, yet with the same familiar rough accent, as he haltingly formed the words in her language which still seemed to feel foreign to him. He cupped her chin firmly with his hands and pulled her in for a kiss that was both passionate and tender._

_"You must go?" she asked breathlessly as they broke away, knowing full well the answer._

_"I cannot stay," he answered reluctantly before reaching into the cot to scoop up his son gently with his large hands. "Before I go, I see our son. Our little warrior. I hold him. I sing for him, as I should."_

_She nodded, the sight of his strong arms filled with the child she had bore him clutched fiercely at her chest and made any relpy other than a sob impossible._

_"The stallion who mounts the world," he whispered reverently as he held the tiny bundle close against his heart._

_Rhaego had squirmed as he was lifted and now appraised the large man with his inquisitive lavender hued eyes, blinking up at Drogo a few times before reaching out with his tiny fingers to touch one of Drogo's braids. He grasped it, examining it curiously and pulled it towards his tiny mouth where he began to chew its ends, drool running down his pudgy fist._

_Drogo laughed heartily and Daenerys joined in, delighted at the antics of her son as he showed himself to be so at ease with his imposing father._

_Drogo then reached down with the arm not holding his child and stroked Rhaego's nose, whispering words to her son that she could not quite catch before grinning up at her and drawing her into his arms also. The two other dragons sidled over to complete the moment and for a while they remained frozen in their embrace, her family. She could feel the heat emanating from Drogo's bare chest, as real as it had always been, and the strong beat of his heart._

_For that moment she knew true happiness as she had never felt it before. She felt complete as she stood surrounded by her husband, who had once been only an arrangement but soon became so much more, and the children they had brought forth. She felt goosebumps run up her arms and she shivered, holding on to Drogo tighter as she felt him suddenly start to slip away._

_"Goodbye my loves," he said softly as the surroundings began to fade._

_She could no longer feel him beside her and in an instant her world had returned to the darkness of dreamless slumber._

_Drogo's song hummed softly at the back of her mind, an echo of their love._

_"No!" she screamed, yet no words left her throat. There was no one there to hear her anymore. Her husband had gone, well and truly left her in this life. "Please no," she pleaded to no one in particular before her mind grew foggy and she slept soundly once again._

_She allowed the tune to sooth her into oblivion._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse this final Drogo-centric chapter. I know it may seem like its being drawn out a bit before we reach the real action but I didn't want the Drogo arc to be left incomplete and from here we can say goodbye and get ready to experience new adventures.  
> Also, this is another dream sequence, I hope you don't find it too dull. Its not as trippy as the previous one, which I wanted to feel more like a fevered, terrifying dream, its more bittersweet and hazy.
> 
> Happy reading folks, and thanks again for the encouraging feedback (I'm looking at you **Irafael98** , **MeahriOlicityShipper** \- sorry I've killed him off - and **Guest**. You know who you are.)


	9. Meat Pulp

* * *

#  **Chapter Six:**  


#  _Meat Pulp_

* * *

Waking from her dream Daenerys felt her heart grow heavy, knowing her love was well and truly gone. Yet she knew many people never got that chance to say goodbye and she was grateful beyond words that she had, no matter how much it hurt to lose him a second time.

Her dragons were also awake, crying softly to each other as if reluctant to wake her.

"What's wrong?" she asked with concern, her sudden alarm brushing away all traces of sleepiness and loss immediately when faced with her troubled babies.

 _"Hungry,"_ Rhaellath managed to send, scraping at the rugs pitifully with tiny claws as if willing food to appear from the floor.

She sighed with relief, glad that theirs was a concern she could fix.

"What would you like to eat?" she asked as she jumped up to pull down her bow and arrow, quickly throwing on some combat leathers to ready herself for hunting some small game.

 _"Meat, large and bloody,"_ Drogon requested with anticipation, sending mental images with the request which made her chuckle. Her three younglings could surely not eat a whole horse between them, a whole stag, a whole bear? She sent them back an image of smaller prey and they reluctantly sent back an agreement.

 _"No bear,"_ Drogon acceded sadly.

She nodded and in a moment was gone, leaving her sleeping maids alone with the young dragons and Rhaego.

 _"Brother is hungry too,"_ Rhaellath whined, _"he needs meat if he is to grow in the way we intend."_

Rhaego woke and began crying in answer to the tempting mental pictures the dragons sent him of raw chunks of meat and freshly killed mammals.

 _"I get meat, too?"_ he sent between wails.

He knew by now that crying was his main way of communicating with the majority of humans who seemed deaf to his thought sendings. It was not ideal, being such a primitive and irritating way of getting attention, yet for now until he could master their tongue it was all he could manage in this form. Although even when he finally won their attention, it usually proved to be a ridiculously vague method of communicating which was possibly the most annoying thing about it all. How could they tell if he was crying because he needed food, his rags needed changing or he was disturbed by existential questions of the universe? They could not, yet with only the thought-deaf maids here now it was his only option. He howled louder.

Irri, heavy with sleep and slow to rouse, heard his cries and after a moment to get her bearings came over. Rhaego stared calmly up at her, having ceased his crying immediately upon receiving attention, with his large, hauntingly lavender eyes and tried to communicate what it was he wanted with the loudest thought sending he could manage.

 _"I need meat,"_ he scrunched up his face with the effort and balled his tiny fists. _"Hear me, maid."_

She bent down to cradle him in her arms and drew him out of the cot, which he found to be a hopeful sign that she had understood and was intending to communicate with him further until he heard her softly saying "you look constipated, little one. You will need changing soon but until then I shall soothe you."

He squirmed in frustration that she would so completely misunderstand his needs, but was soon calmed by her gentle rocking and the lilting melody of her softly hummed tune. It was simple but beautiful. He settled even more when the dragons added their own crooning to her song, which caused her to stiffen in shock and stare around at first with wide eyes, ceasing her tune only for a moment before focusing on him once more and adding her voice to those of his brothers'.

It was perfect.

The other two maids even woke from their slumber and sat up to watch such a special moment take place, this common girl singing with the majestic dragons as no human had done in centuries. Rhaego gurgled happily and waved his own clumsy, pudgy fist in time to the music as something inside him stirred. Music. It called to him in a deep way. The music of his brothers' touched him and he could not wait to be able to add his own music to theirs, but for now hearing this maid sing with his dragons delighted him to his very core.

 _"We shall sing alongside you one day, little brother,"_ they sent cheerfully, _"you shall add instruments to our song, you shall add words and sounds which we cannot. We shall be together in music as well as flight and it will be glorious."_

He saw this in his mind's eye, his large weapon roughened hands holding an exquisitely carved instrument which his fingers flew across gracefully as he played his music while the dragons sang, raising their true voices to the sky. For now he could only wail and they could only hum, but he glimpsed through them how they would be in years to come, the incredible music they would make, the beauty they would create, and his soul ached for that time. He tried to clutch at the mental picture with his mind but it shimmered elusively before him and was gone.

_"Be patient little brother, we all have far to go before we are they. For now enjoy the beauty we can make with our voices of innocence, for this time will all too soon be taken and once gone its purity cannot be regained."_

He did not understand them, knowing only that he wanted to become the man in that image, but he acceded to their wisdom about such things, knowing they could not be changed at any rate. They were right about one thing, their tune here and now was worth enjoying, not wishing away. With that, he danced; his small body wiggling, his limbs flailing and his heart soaring in response to the captivating music.

By the time they stopped there were many curious Dothraki at the tent flaps, watching and listening in awe, and Rhaego was tired. In Irri's arms he eventually fell asleep and by the time he woke once more the sun was high in the sky and his brothers were growing restless with hunger.

Daenerys hurried back as quickly as she could, feeling the faint cries of her dragons and hating being away from her children for so long. She hoped the maids knew how to best look after them and she hoped the younglings weren't up to mischief in her absence. Why had she gone herself and not sent others? Her desire to provide for them had won over her desire to stay but she was feeling now that she had taken the wrong approach.

She looked at the kills she had made, now flung over her shoulder and smiled slightly, knowing no one else sent out to find food for her tiny dragons would have brought back so much. She was already such an indulgent mother. They would feast tonight, their little bellies would swell and their hunger pains would be fought off for a while. She hoped.

Not that she knew how much dragons, even baby dragons ate.

She chuckled once more at the mental images they were throwing her way of bears and boar. Wishful thinking, she was not even sure she could catch such creatures if she wanted to. For now plains foxes and the strings of rodents she had caught must suffice, she had killed and carried back at least triple their collective body mass in meat, it would have to be enough.

 _"Food is near, my children,"_ she sent as she hurried through the temporary tents of the khalasar, weaving through her people with the hot blood of her freshest kill running in rivulets down her shoulder. Her people bowed to her as she passed, and she took the time to briefly acknowledge them all.

 _"Mother returns,"_ the thoughts bounced around her tent in anticipation, each dragon taking up the cry as they felt her approach their position. _"She brings a feast."_

Even the maids, who were oblivious to thought sendings, noticed the atmosphere in the tent change as the dragons' excitement grew palpable. They positively thrummed with energy, their emotions resonating through the very air they were so strong. She resolved never to leave them without her or without food for this long again, sensing the toll the absence of both for the morning had been too much for them at this age.

"I'm back," she entered the tent and the dragons threw themselves at her, greeting her with affection and gratitude as she sent out thoughts of warmth and adoration for them to bask in. Then she dumped the meat from her shoulder to the floor and invited them to eat with a thought nudge.

They looked from her to the meat in confusion, seeming to be unsure of how to proceed.

 _"We don't remember,"_ they finally admitted, clawing at the fur and trying to tear it off with their undeveloped teeth. The nips of their teeth made no effect on the fur, except dislodging some hairs, and their hunger bounced around the tent, mingled with frustration as they faced this unforeseen problem.

Daenerys' heart went out to them and she stooped down to the kills, requesting their permission to intervene.

They accepted her help and she carved open the first fox, watching as they stuck their mouths and noses into the hole she had made and nibbled tentatively at the innards.

 _"Cold,"_ they shuddered, _"raw."_

It was not a pleasant experience, not like the memories of food which they carried from previous lives. _"We used to flame our food, make the meat tasty,"_ Viserion recalled suddenly, blood dribbling down his scales.

 _"So it was,"_ Drogon agreed, picking at the kill with determination.

"Can you flame yet?" Daenerys asked with interest.

 _"No, the mothers would flame for us until we were able to flame for ourselves,"_ Viserion looked up at Daenerys with his glittering eyes and she nodded, taking the meat over to the fire pit and skewering it ready for cooking. She stoked the flames and grilled the rodents on the side to cook quickly and provide snacks for her dragons while they waited for the foxes to be done.

They all crowded around the flames, basking in the heat and crooning happily as Daenerys threw the rodents towards them when they were cooked through. Their teeth may have been too tiny to break through the tougher skin of the foxes, but rodents proved to be no trouble. They ate happily.

 _"Rhaego needs meat, too, we shall make him grow strong like us,"_ Drogon sent after their immediate hunger pangs had been sated.

"He is a human baby," Daenerys chuckled as she spoke softly to the dragons, "for now he needs my milk, soon I shall start him on small solid food."

 _"No mother, he needs meat now. We need this if we are to help him as we promised,"_ they insisted as one.

"What do you mean?" she asked, tossing another rodent towards them and frowning in confusion.

Rhaellath caught the rodent skillfully by the tail and tried to explain. _"We told him we would help him grow quicker, at a dragon rate. That we would shape him to be strong like us. We promised to sculpt him. Mother, if we are to do this he needs meat, for his body needs to be strong enough to begin the shaping."_

"You want to shape my son?" she asked, incredulous. She blinked and tried to fight down the overwhelming emotions, "what does that mean?"

 _"It is something dragons have done for millennia,"_ Viserion explained, _"choosing humans we feel are worthy and sculpting them in our image. The Targaryens are an example of humans which dragons took an interest in for generations, shaping them to make them more like us; giving distinctive physical traits, greater intelligence, ability to rule, wisdom, strength and beauty, all in our own image. Also a true Targaryen can withstand heat like no mere human can, this is now genetic in your family because of years of dragon influence but many of the other traits your family used to hold, such as genetic memory, have been diluted down over the years due to the lack of a dragon's influence."_

 _"But we return, through you dear mother,"_ Drogon declared proudly. _"You revived us and brought dragons back to this world. In return we choose Rhaego, your son, as our own. He is already linked as our brother and it is our right, as dragons, to sculpt him as we see fit. Mother, he has asked us and we have replied, please help us. He needs meat."_

Daenerys listened with rapt attention, closing her eyes as they sent image after image, memory after memory of previous lives and the history of both of their ancestors to her mind. "I..." she began once the images had ceased and all was quiet once more, "I do not know what to say."

 _"Trust us, mother,"_ Rhaellath crooned softly into her mind, _"being chosen is a great honour, allow us to exalt your son. He is chosen by us and we will do right by him, you have our word."_

 _"The word of a dragon is binding,"_ Viserion clarified, _"once their true name is known by the person receiving the oath."_

Daenerys nodded slowly and walked over to where her son lay, cooing happily and nodding up at her as if he had followed the conversation and wanted to convince her he was on board. She stroked his cheek softly, drinking in the sight of him with his thick dark tufts of hair and his distinctive lavender eyes. Dragon eyes, she knew now, having found out the cause for the Targaryen's physical features.

"The stallion who mounts the world," she whispered as she gazed down at him. She could not claim to have thought of him as a babe destined for a normal future, since he had been prophesied already to be a chosen vessel of greatness. Yet she had hoped for some time with him as a helpless infant, as her baby. She didn't know exactly how the sculpting worked but, looking down at his eager eyes, she knew she could not deny him his destiny.

 _"They said 'stallion' because they had no word for our kind,"_ Rhaellath interrupted her thoughts after a moment. _"He will not be a stallion, we feed off of stallions. He will be a dragon."_

She nodded slowly. She had always known this was true, somehow.

"He is a Targaryen," she turned from her baby to smile proudly at them. "He is yours to sculpt, dear younglings."

 _"Thank you, mother,"_ they sent, their joy and excitement overwhelming her with warmth. _"We will make you proud, all of us."_

 _"You already do,"_ she sent back with all of the tenderness in her heart overflowing into that one thought. With that she went to the fire where the meat was crackling and saw the foxes were ready. "Get ready to feast, my children," she carved up the meat and threw chunks around the room, much to the dragons' delight. She then went over to Rhaego and began to feed him some chunks of the same meat, chewing them up herself first before offering them to him on her finger.

He ate them eagerly.

 _"Let it begin,"_ Rhaego sent joyously to the dragons as he swallowed the pulps of meat which would give him the strength he needed.


	10. All in a Night's Work

* * *

#  **Chapter Seven:**  


#  _All in a Night's Work_

* * *

Rhaego saw them in his sleep, the dragons. They danced around him and sang into his mind as he felt a soft tingling sensation creep across his body followed by a warmth spreading from his chest out to the tips of his fingers. He scrunched his fists and shivered as waves of heat passed over him, growing hotter and hotter as the dragons claimed him. Searing him from the inside, reworking him to their own image. He rejoiced even as the the pain struck.

 _"You are safe, little prince."_ Their voices soothed as the heat became uncomfortable even for him, a true Targaryen.

 _"I know."_ He sent back even as his nerves set alight with their relentless pulses of energy. He trusted them. They had felt his discomfort turn to pain and he could sense them stepping in, intruding on his mind to collectively shoulder the burden of his agony and free him of such things so that his mind could focus on the memories they flowed through him. So many memories. They showed him streams of images and thoughts, the rise and fall of dynasties, they showed him their memory of the aeons and he dreamed of lives he had never known. He dreamed of the lost age of the dragons.

 _"We will teach you, remind you of all that we are,"_ they promised.

Daenerys stirred as she sensed something was happening. She sat herself up and felt the energy thrum throughout the room, tingling her senses and sending a shiver up her spine. "What-?" she began, rubbing the remnants of sleep from her eyes.

 _"Fear not dear mother."_ The feel of Rhaellath's mind brushing gently against hers was soothing and all traces of panic vanished in an instant, snatched away and replaced only by a deep seated curiosity.

She picked herself up and strode over to the crib around which the dragons were perched, like sentinels keeping watch over their charge. In the half light of the moon's glow which crept in through the cracks of their tent it was difficult to make out much, so she lit a candle and placed it down to one side to better see and understand this moment. The scene was important, she knew, although she could not explain why, she just felt it was so. She walked forward and lay her hands softly on either side of the crib, feeling a momentary warmth of welcome from her dragons before they set their minds back to her son. Their expressions seemed intently focused, although she was not yet accustomed to their ways enough to pick out most emotions from their body language, all she knew was that they were clearly watching Rhaego with a fierceness which drew her. Looking over the edges of the crib she was relieved to see Rhaego sleeping soundly, despite the occasional flicker flitting across his face as if he reacted to the most vivid of dreams.

As the quivering candlelight illuminated the planes of her son's face she gasped. His hair.

 _"What is wrong?"_ Viserion asked, a worried note in his thought sending as the dragons turned as one upon hearing her shock.

 _"Rhaego.."_ she began, pointing to his tufts of hair with disbelief, "he has a strand of white hair that wasn't there before."

Sure enough, plain as day under the candle's light as it fell over his features, the front right-hand-side locks of his hair were now silver-gold. Even more silvery than her own, she noted as she stared down at these new tresses which gleamed in the night. The strand was also longer than the rest of his dark hair, falling down over his eyebrow and curling at the ends into light tendrils like wisps of gold-spun smoke.

 _"Do you dislike it, mother?"_ Viserion puzzled, his nostrils flaring as the tiniest puff of smoke rose to the ceiling. All of the pride which they had felt at their collective achievement thus far was seemingly forgotten as the three young dragons gazed imploringly up at Daenerys, desperate for her approval.

For a moment Daenerys did not know what to say, staring in shock at the baby before her. Was it her imagination or was he also larger, the edges of his face more defined? It took the pleading tone in Viserion's sending to bring her back to the situation, feeling the attention of her dragons on her as they waited for her reply. Reply to what? Her mind reeled, trying to catch up, she could not recall a question. She felt the tension in her shoulders and back relax slightly. This was not such a big deal, she told herself, the dragons were merely shaping him as a true Targaryen. She had prepared herself for this as she had tossed and turned before falling asleep that night, hadn't she? They had warned her. She had expected this. This was no big deal.

 _"Mother?"_ the dragons prompted, feeling her distance as a sign that she was angry or upset.

Yet she couldn't prevent the outpouring of emotions as she saw him lying there, displaying the trademark Targaryen features for all to see in a way that he had not when she put him to bed last night. While she had loved the heavy mix of Drogo she saw in him, she realised as she glanced down at him now that he truly was blood of her blood. The continuation of her line, the heir of her throne. He was her family's legacy and looking upon his peaceful face with these new found Targaryen tresses, she felt a whole host of emotions well up inside her that she had not known before. Stronger than love, stronger than a need for vengeance and justice, stronger than anything she had ever felt this emotion overcame her and the dragons shuddered softly in response as if they, too, could feel its power.

"He is beautiful." She choked as she turned her tear-glistening eyes to her dragons. "So utterly beautiful." She drew in a shaky breath and straightened her shoulders before sending waves of gratitude towards her dragons, "as are you."

The intensity of their returned affection nearly knocked her off her feet and she felt tears pouring down her cheeks as she stood and kept watch over her son with her dragons, feeling the energy surrounding them as they worked over his sleeping form all night.

As the first rays of the sun broke through the darkness and bathed their tent with a soft glow she marveled at the miracles before her, her children. The light shimmered off of the dragons' scales like precious gems and highlighted the streak of white-gold hair crowning her son's head, setting it off magnificently as the candle had not. She was surrounded by the most magnificent creatures she had ever known, one of them being her own son.

"We are Targeryen," she whispered reverently as she reached down for the first time and caressed the lock of white-gold hair, marveling at how it flowed through her fingers, its touch like molten silk.

At her contact Rhaego stirred and opened his eyes sleepily. Daenerys was surprised to note that his lavender eyes were now even more vivid, glowing with a luminescence as if lit from behind by a fire of their own. In the sunlight she could make out that there were also now flecks of green, black and gold showing close to the iris; the colour of their dragons reflected within his very soul. His eyes were like non she had ever seen, more unique than even her own. She could not tear her own eyes away, gazing at him adoringly and wondering how else they would grow and develop him. He was already breathtaking.

They studied each other quietly, Rhaego squinting in concentration and Daenerys noting every detail, drinking up the sight of him with greed. For a moment, as their eyes held, she felt a depth of connection she had not expected and her heart fluttered with tenderness and joy. She was about to reach down to take him in her arms when he opened his tiny mouth, gaping slightly as if working unused muscles, and after a moment managed to say his first word.

"Muña?" 

_Mother._

_He had spoke to her in the tongue of High Valyrian._


	11. The Red Waste

* * *

#  **Chapter Eight:**  


#  _The Red Waste_

* * *

**Four months later ******

* * *

Jorah chuckled fondly as Rhaego toddled around on his unsteady legs, heading straight for him with a pudgy fistful of dust. Red dust. For some reason the child was fascinated with the stuff.

Its appeal was something Jorah could not see, as to most of the weary travelers who remained in Daenerys' khalasar it was nothing more than the troublesome stuff which they were constantly finding in their clothes, in their hair, entering their nostrils and mouths; this infuriating dust which seemed adept at finding its way into any crevice big or small. It had, over the last four months while traveling doggedly through the Red Waste, become the bane of his life. He especially hated when it flew into his eyes and he would have to blink rapidly until tears formed before he could see clearly once more. With bathing kept to a minimum he had even stooped to a new low when he found himself resorting to picking the clumps of red sand from his belly button and from between his toes each evening in what had become a kind of ritual.

He certainly did not feel the desire to carry it around like a prized possession as the young Targaryen seemed to.

However he could not deny there was something endearing about how Rhaego found pleasure in such things, in every thing truth be told. He was a bright, inquisitive child who loved nothing more than exploring the world around him in whatever way he could. Jorah had taken immense pleasure in watching the young child's development as he had grown at an astounding rate, in both ability and understanding, during the months since his birth. Seeing his personality blossom had been a privilege he had not expected to take such delight in, never having had much to do with children, yet he had become slowly enamoured with the boy.

It would have been impossible not to.

"Sand," Rhaego grinned happily as he threw the handful of obnoxious stuff into the air and sat down with a thud on the floor, his stubby legs giving way underneath him as the dust scattered and fell in clouds, covering his hair and face. He coughed slightly before giggling at his own antics and looking up to his friend to share the moment of simple delight.

"Oh Rhaego," Jorah knelt down to the small boy and shook his head slightly, hiding a smile as he brushed the smattering of dust from the child's stunning silver-gold hair.

Having been born with dark matted hair, thick and coarse, everyone had been shocked to watch day by day as the child's hair changed so dramatically. From the night when he had grown those first silver wisps of hair, Targaryen style, the changes had expanded and now the majority of his head was covered in white blonde tendrils which already snaked down to his shoulders. Dark streaks were scattered here and there, a remnant of his Dothraki heritage, but with only one truly substantial block of dark hair left now, curling down from his forehead to behind his ear on the left side of his tiny, sharp face.

The only other traces of the Dothraki blood coursing through his veins were the abundance of thick, dark eyelashes and his dark eyebrows, high and angular like his father's. They framed his strangely luminous, alluring lavender eyes, drawing attention to them with their contrast to the rest of his pale features and making them even more piercing.

He was a beautiful child indeed, growing at a rate which baffled the knight, who watched him closely day in day out.

Rhaego squirmed as Jorah held his face still to wipe the red dust from around his eyes gently.

Daenerys looked over her shoulder from where she sat cross legged, encouraging her dragons to flame a chunk of flesh she had caught for them, and smiled indulgently at the sight of her son playing with her knight. Jorah's heart skipped a beat at the sight of her, as it always did, but he quickly squashed it. He had come to terms long ago with the fact she was not his to look at, not in that way. He knew the part he was assigned, and he played it well. For her.

"Jorah?" Rhaego's lisping voice, as he pronounced his name in a strangely accented manner, snatched his attention away from Daenerys and back to the child before him.

"Yes, my khalakka?" he had taken to calling him by the Dothraki term for prince.

"We play?" he smiled his dazzling smile, a smile he knew Jorah was weak to, which was made all the more winning by the fact he had recently cut his first three teeth, before holding his hand up to the man as he waited with confidence to be helped back to his feet. Dust smudged down his nose with a shade of dull red and Jorah could not help but break into a smile at the sight as he grasped the child's tiny hand in his own and heaved him easily to his feet.

"What game?" he asked as his light, age-lined eyes twinkled down at the child. So it was that with those two words he became tied into yet another afternoon of entertaining the toddler with merriment and adventure, until the sun kissed the horizon for the last time that evening.

Not that he minded one bit.

At first when Jorah had worked on bonding with the child his reward had been a smile or tender glance, a nod, maybe even a laugh from his khaleesi. Yet now, although those moments when she fondly acknowledged his bond with her son still quickened the blood through his veins, this was no longer the reason for his desire to be around the child. He had come to find these moments, the hours after the heavy riding of the day's travel but before sunset, when Rhaego was allowed to play, were becoming precious to him for their own merit. Often, admittedly, Rhaego would choose to waddle along after the dragons, wrapped up completely in their little world as they danced and played together. However there were other times, such as now, when Daenerys taught them skills that Rhaego could not learn, and during these times it was Jorah who the boy turned to. Jorah who, out of all who doted on him, Rhaego chose to play with.

Jorah who the boy had first pointed to and lisped "raqiros." Raqiros meaning friend in High Valyrian. That moment had warmed his heart and solidified the boy's place in it forever.

Some days this thought alone buoyed Jorah's spirits more than even romantic recognition from Daenerys could.

His feelings for the child had been unexpected, he knew. This did not mean he would not embrace them wholeheartedly. He had swore his fealty, as a knight of Westeros, to the young boy the moment he came forth from the ashes of Drogo's pyre. Now he would lay not just his sword, but his heart at the boy's feet.

He cradled the tiny bundle in his arms, the boy's face slackened in sleep and still dusty from playing with and in the sand. He smiled at his prince tenderly as he carried him back to his family.

Daenerys did not look up as she heard him approach, yet he knew from the slight change in the angle of her shoulders that she sensed that he was there. He could feel her awareness and so he waited and watched as she pushed her dragons, now the size of large canines, to flame the meat before them. She was relentless with this task and had been intent for the last few weeks on her dragons mastering it so they could flame with ease now that their flame sacs had developed enough.

Rhaego stirred in his arms. His eyes slowly opened and he lay his head against Jorah's chest quietly as he watched the dragons' attempts with interest.

"Dracarys," _dragonfire_ , he called in encouragement and the largest of the beasts, his scales black and his demeanor powerful even at such a tender age, flickered his eyes to the boy and chose that moment to let out the most impressive burst of fire Jorah had seen any of them do so far. Rhaego giggled in delight and clapped his hands before pushing away from Jorah until he was lowered, toddling over to the dragon the moment his tiny feet touched the ground.

Daenerys just watched her son in silence, covering her shock well with a mask of detached interest to all but he, who knew her too well. He watched her as she looked from the large black dragon to her son and back, as if attempting to follow a conversation. Which is probably exactly what she was doing, he realised.

She had told him a few times of the creatures' ability to communicate telepathically, but seeing them converse while being unable to hear what was being said still unnerved him. There was something so...unnatural about it all. It just didn't sit right with him, especially watching how easily young Rhaego flitted between telepathic communication and High Valyrian, with the main area he struggled grasping was the common tongue. His mother tongue, supposedly. His accented, stilted attempts at the common tongue were certainly, like everything about the boy, far in advance of his age. His Dothraki was also improving slowly. Yet neither could compare to the ease with which he commanded the tongue of High Valyrian, a language the boy had never been exposed to but seemed so proficient in.

Who was this child that Jorah had come to so adore? What was he?

He exchanged a look with Daenerys and saw exactly the same question in her mind. He nodded sharply and dismissed himself, leaving the child to play with his dragons.

Daenerys followed him, rising gracefully from the dust and brushing herself off.

"Jorah," she implored him quietly.

"Yes, khaleesi?" he turned immediately, his heart thumping in his chest as he met those beautiful eyes.

"I would talk with you. We approach the lands of the East and my time has been taken up with matters of motherhood," she glanced back at her children. "He is growing so fast, they all are, it leaves me little time for anything else," she sighed heavily.

Jorah bowed low, "I understand, Khaleesi, motherhood is no small matter." Especially under such circumstances; three dragons and a rapidly developing infant.

She gave him a quick smile, grateful for his support, before her demeanor turned business-like once more.

"I need to know what lies out there, what we will come across. It is vital now more than ever," she indicated Rhaego with a wave of her hand, "that we retake the Iron Throne and our rightful place as ruler of Westeros. I will not have my son, a true dragon, inherit dust." To highlight her point she kicked up a small clump of the red sand and they watched in silence as it settled.

He nodded, a smile spreading across his face as he imagined their triumphant return to the land of their birth once more. The day of her victory.

"I shall not rest until I see you seated on that throne, your highness," he met her eyes with an intensity that went beyond his longing for her and was, instead, a longing for her desires to be made reality. Not just for her sake either, nor the sake of her son. Westeros deserved its rightful ruler, not the foolish child, the product of incest who now controlled it. And they shall have her, that he vowed.

She lay a hand on his shoulder, smiling up at him with such trust it nearly broke his heart. He knew he did not deserve it. A fact he refused to dwell on as he could not change the past, merely use what he knew from what he had done to protect her, and shape their future. He would one day earn her trust in his own eyes, as well as hers.

"So you can help me?" she asked softly. "Tell me of the lands we shall be entering?"

"I can," he inclined his head.

"Thank you," her shoulders visibly relaxed and she moved the conversation on to her children, talking in an animated way which never failed to warm his heart. There would be plenty of time to talk business tomorrow and the day after, they were a long way from reaching the lands of the East, he knew. He grimaced, not relishing the idea of picking sand out of his toes for much longer.

* * *

**Two weeks later**

* * *

They had been riding for so long now, pushing the horses far past their limits. It was difficult for everyone, this expanse known as the Red Waste, it took no prisoners.

Jorah glanced across with concern at Daenerys as her horse plodded along, sweat tangling its mane into clumps of matted hair while dust clogged its eyes. The poor thing looked so weary in the way it carried itself, which definitely did not bode well.

Even the Dothraki, a nomadic people used to the hardships of long rides, were growing restless with the pace and never ending wasteland. There had been no fresh water for two days now and Jorah was not sure how long they could continue once their waterskins ran dry. The only ones who seemed to be faring relatively well were Rhaego and the dragons, who appeared so far to be unfazed by the harsh conditions. This could have something to do with Jorah's suspicions that Daenerys snuck them some of her water rations, as he did for Rhaego, or it could be that they were just more resilient somehow.

Yet even they could not last forever without water.

The heat caused his vision to waver, showing the horizon as a fluctuating and unreachable destination, the sand spread out for as far as the eye could see. He blinked and ignored the headache that had plagued him for weeks now as he focused on the way ahead, fighting down any worries that this horizon of never ending red dust would be the last thing he ever saw. He would not allow that to be the case. He refused to fail Daenerys, and little Rhaego.

He heard a cry from his left and turned quickly to face Daenerys, watching with horror as her horse keeled over to the ground and she had to throw herself and Rhaego to the side so as not to be squashed under its considerable weight. Once they had stood up and brushed off the dirt from their fall Rhaego looked at their white mare with his big eyes and held out a hand to stroke her knotted mane as she panted heavily. Daenerys stood over them both and watched with sadness as the horse took its last laboured breaths before falling still.

"Muña?" Rhaego cried as he looked up to her, his large eyes brimming with confusion as to why the creature lay lifeless.

"Morghe," she whispered softly and the small child shook his head slowly in wonder. _Dead._

As Rhaego came to terms with the loss Jorah approached Daenerys, his fears masked yet readable to her. He saw them reflected in her own eyes, the question hanging over them which she must now find an answer to as their queen.

"What now?" he whispered urgently, drawing her slightly away from the crowd as the other Dothraki stopped their horses and dismounted, all looking to her for guidance.

For a second she said nothing, weighing up their options in her mind before speaking hesitantly. Which was fine, she knew she could show hesitation with him.

"I will send my bloodriders off in different directions, they will scout for us and report what they find."

It was most likely a death sentence for them, as well as the rest of the camp but he nodded at her suggestion, knowing they did not have a choice.

"Will you see to Rhaego as I make the arrangement?" she asked distractedly.

"Of course, my queen."

"Thank you, Jorah."

With a swish of her hair and a brisk pace, which belied none of the discomforts of the last few months, she was gone. She strode through the khalasar with a perfectly sculpted mask of confidence and gave her orders without hesitation, without any emotion. Her bloodriders inclined their heads and briefly exchanged glances. They would do their duty, as honour demanded, yet none of them were under the illusion that this was anything other than a suicide mission.

Rhaego walked up to him and slipped his hand into Jorah's, wrapping his fingers around the man's middle finger in what had become his way.

Jorah knelt to be on level with the boy and searched his eyes for any lingering signs of distress over the horse's passing. He knew how Rhaego had been fond of the beast. There was none. Instead he was surprised to see Rhaego staring intently at his mother's bloodriders as they departed to ready their gear for the task she had requested of them.

Rhaego then turned to look at Jorah with eyes freshly filled with sorrow.

"Morghe," he said sadly, blinking quickly. His hand trembled slightly in Jorah's and a chill ran up the man's spine.

"What?" he asked, his eyes widening in shock at the significance of Rhaego's comment.

"Morghe" Rhaego repeated before dropping his hold on Jorah's finger and scampering back off to his dragons.

Before turning to keep an eye on the child as he had promised Daenerys, Jorah could not help but follow the bloodriders with his gaze, wondering if the boy meant all three would die, one would die or the entire khalasar, including them, were as good as dead. He desperately wanted to question him, but wondered if they were better off not knowing, or even if he could glean sense from the boy; anything more specific and helpful than 'dead'.

All he knew was that he should definitely tell Daenerys, then she could decide how to proceed. With a heavy heart he watched the riders as their horses galloped into the distance, kicking up fresh clouds of sand and disappearing over the horizon. Once they were out of sight he returned his attention to his prince and tried to put the unsettling event out of his mind until he spoke to his khaleesi later that night.

As he watched the boy playing with his dragons, suddenly carefree once more, all Jorah could think was of what had been said and what it all would mean.

He found himself mulling a familiar question over and over in his mind. It was one he had been pondering over constantly since Rhaego was born.

_What was this boy?_


	12. Of Severed Heads and Hope

* * *

#  **Chapter Nine:**  


#  _Of Severed Heads and Hope_

* * *

It had been days. Five, maybe six rotations of the earth. Daenerys was too exhausted to count sometimes. In the constant heat, as the sand whipped past and grazed her face, she doubted. She doubted her orders, she doubted the prophesies and promises which had brought them this far and she doubted her own decision to lead these people through such dangerous land.

Would her bloodriders return? Doubtful.

Would her khalasar survive? Also doubtful.

Bile rose in her throat as her thoughts spiraled darkly. Had she failed them all?

"Khaleesi drink," Jorah handed her the water skin from where he slumped beside her and offered a small smile. Sometimes the trust and faith she saw in his eyes when he looked at her, even now, was enough to chase away the doubts she carried so close to her heart. Just not today.

She smiled weakly back at him and took a tiny sip of the precious water, feeling the bliss as the moisture met her cracked lips then swam over her swollen, dry tongue. She refused to swallow for a moment as she swilled the tiny mouthful around her mouth and savoured the feeling of a relief to the dryness. A relief too soon gone. She swallowed and slumped back against Jorah's horse, too weak to do anything but watch as her dragons hummed serenely to her son and the sand shimmered apathetically all around them.

Even Rhaego was struggling now and it broke her heart to watch him suffer so. He sat down, in the shadow of his dragons, and his head lolled forward every now and then in the heat as exhaustion threatened to claim him. The dragons willed strength into their brother, she could feel it, but even this was beginning to wane as they were starting to struggle too. Since they had shared out the last of the meat of her horse to everyone, a task which she had not relished, they had found no new food and they had resorted to living off of the dry, long legged bugs they found in the sand. How long could dragons last with no meat, she wondered sadly, watching the way they held themselves with their wings lowered and their necks bowed as if it was too much effort to hold themselves high and proud anymore. Even they were wilting.

The sight of her son and dragons, their powerful energy being depleted by her choice to stay put, shattered something within her and she felt a rage build, one which gave her strength.

She shook her head and stood up, feeling the blood rush quickly to her head as she rose too quickly. She waved away the dizziness and ignored the cracked voice of Jorah as he protested, watching her unsteady walk with concern. She could feel the intensity of his gaze as his eyes followed her but she could not concern herself with that right now. Yes she felt physically weak, and yes their options were limited, but she was a Targaryen and she had realised, seeing her children suffer, that it was not for her to wait as death slowly claimed all those she cared for. She would not sit quietly as those around her slowly succumbed to the harsh desert. No more passivity. Her body may be weakened but her soul was dragonborn, she could handle a little heat.

She straightened her shoulders and felt a fresh wave of strength surge through her. She may not yet know where she would lead her people but any direction would be better than rotting here at the mercy of the relentless sun.

"Hear me, my khalasar," she addressed them fiercely, her voice raw as she tried to shout loud enough to be heard and inspire confidence; hoping her determination would prove infectious. "We have-"

She paused mid-sentence and stared at the horizon, uncertain as to whether she were hallucinating or not. Those who had given her their attention when she began talking turned to see what grabbed her interest now, shading their eyes from the reflected brightness of the sand and squinting to see what approached. A murmur grew as people realised who this was and she was surprised to feel tiny fingers wrap around her thumb as she stood in silence and stared at the approaching horse.

"Rakharo," she rasped as the horse came close enough for her to make out its features. Close enough for her to see that it had no rider.

"Quba," Rhaego gripped her thumb tighter and leaned in behind her billowing, tattered skirts. _Bad._

She glanced down at her son and saw his large eyes brimming with concern. He nibbled his lip and she drew him into her arms as a need to hold him close overwhelmed her.

"Its okay, zaldrīzes-Ītsos" she had taken to calling him _little dragon_ in high Valyrian, a nickname he loved.

He did not respond, instead he buried his little face into her long hair and wound the wavy locks around his fingers, shaking slightly in her arms as he felt her begin to walk over to the unmanned horse.

"Zūgagon daor," he whispered in his lisped voice, so quietly she could barely hear him despite the fact he was so close to her ear that his breath tickled her. _Do not be afraid._ She shivered, knowing it was not to her that he spoke but to himself. What was it he knew, or sensed? What frightened him so?

Jorah stood up and walked by her side, his strides short, heavy and slow, his posture weakened. It did not matter, she showed enough strength for both of them as she carried her child steadily across the vast expanse. She felt the dust fly around her suddenly as it was disturbed by the three young dragons who followed her protectively. They batted their wings and managed short bursts of flight before they fell to the ground once more. They were still learning to use their wings and the current situation did not help much but despite the hardships they still progressed beyond her wildest dreams, sometimes able to sustain a single glide for a few feet.

"That's it, my children," she called back to them as pride swelled in her heart at the sight of her dragons attempting flight and refusing to give up. They were weak and hungry, yet nothing broke their spirit.

Viserion crooned eagerly at her praise and attempted an overly ambitious flight, leaping higher into the air than usual and ending up falling to the ground with an undignified somersault followed by a sharp cry.

Rhaego looked up from the strands of hair he had been grasping, pointed to the upended dragon and laughed at the sight. Viserion righted himself and shook off the dust, ignoring the looks he was attracting from the surrounding Dothraki and snorting a puff of smoke from his nose indignantly. _"I meant to do that,"_ he sent to Rhaego, _"it was a style of flight never done before by a dragon."_

_"I wonder why,"_ Rhaego sent back, still giggling with delight as he teased his brother happily. Daenerys was relieved to see the fear and tension emanating from him moments before had been swiftly replaced with adoration and amusement towards the dragons.

Viserion shook his head and tail free of sand before attempting flight once more, managing only a glorified hop before landing heavily. If dragons could blush she felt he would be bright red right now, she smiled to herself.

_"Serves you right, show off,"_ Rhaellath sent, snorting with amusement at her brother's antics.

Rhaego then sent mental pictures of poor Viserion's clumsiness over and over again to the dragons, until even Viserion was laughing at himself. Meanwhile they approached the bloodrider's horse and Daenerys was glad that her children were all distracting themselves as the last thing she needed was to be overwhelmed with their feelings of dread.

Jorah put a hand out in front of her as they reached the horse.

"Allow me, my Queen," he bowed as she nodded her permission and began searching through the horse's packs warily. She would never show her relief at him stepping up like that, she was just grateful to have him by her side for times like this and as he rummaged she turned her attention to Rhaego, stroking the silky locks of his hair and inhaling the scent of him as she held him close. He turned from the dragons and towards the horse with a sombre expression at the exact moment she heard Jorah's sharp intake of breath.

"What is it?" she demanded tersely, fighting down the prickling of fear as Jorah turned towards her with a horrified expression and slowly lifted from the satchel a Dothraki braid, followed by a severed head. It still dripped with blood. She could not tear her gaze from its eyes for a moment, those lifeless eyes which had once been so fierce and proud. Those eyes which had shone with mirth when her husband made a joke and softened kindly while patiently teaching her the skills of a warrior. The eyes she had looked into as she sent her men, her husband's friends, on this suicide errand.

A wave of nausea washed over her as she regarded her valiant bloodrider's features, now slack in death.

"Rakharo," she choked and Jorah nodded sadly.

Drogon hissed angrily, spitting tiny flames in outrage and she felt the influx of her dragon's emotions as they, too, processed what had happened. What this meant.

"It is a message," she realised, her voice tight with emotion. "But from who?"

Rhaego stiffened in her arms and she held him tighter, protectively.

Jorah met her gaze hesitantly and in that moment he confirmed what she had known the moment he had produced the head. Those dogs from Westeros would pay for this, would pay for all of the blood on their hands, for the blood of her family and now her friends. She had been too complacent before, deluding herself to thinking she was out of their reach here in the East but it seems she was mistaken. She read their message loud and clear; she would never be safe and neither would her children or her people so long as they still drew breath.

Very well.

She took the head of Rakharo from Jorah and threw it to her starving dragons.

"Take strength from this, strength to avenge his death. We will not allow his sacrifice to be in vain," she commanded as she watched her dragons set upon the severed head. The Dothraki watched with wide eyes as they flamed and torn the flesh from his face, but to her relief none of them tried to prevent it. In fact, they all bowed their heads to their fallen comrade and the young dragons as shouts for strength and vengeance rose among them. The dragons grew visibly stronger with each mouthful and Daenerys gave them a tight smile as the blood dripped down their chins and the smell of burning flesh assaulted her nostrils.

This was a cremation worthy of a true warrior, she knew somewhere within herself that Rakharo would approve and so she jostled Rhaego on her hip and watched until the very last scrap of flesh was devoured and her babies were temporarily sated. She would remember this moment and make sure those who plotted against her would remember it also.

_"They know not who they deal with, mother,"_ Drogon sent as the dragons settled to let their food go down.

_"But they soon will,"_ Rhaego returned, his innocent features distorted with an anger that startled her but quickly vanished.

She nodded numbly and stroked her son's back, more to comfort herself than him. He squirmed in her arms, restless to join his dragons and she set him down, watching as he walked with his unsteady gait, growing in confidence each day.

Her baby.

A few hours later, as the khalasar mounted their horses ready to depart in the direction she decided, they saw another figure on the horizon. She squinted and, mounting Rakharo's weary steed, approached it with trepidation. Rhaego sat before her with his head resting against her chest and the dragons and Jorah stayed besides her, as always. Whatever she now had to face she knew they would give her courage.

As she got closer her eyes made out a figure atop of a horse and they were heading straight for her.

She felt the built up tension ooze from her as the lines of both horse and man became familiar. Kovarro. Could it really be him?

"Hail, khaleesi" he shouted hoarsely, the wind catching at his words.

"Hail Kovarro," she called in return, her voice catching in her throat as relief washed over her.

The Dothraki behind her all cried out with joy as they saw him return to them, their warrior. His presence seemed to fill their with a new strength borne of hope.

As they headed towards him and he towards them they eventually met and once she was close enough to make out the smaller details of his face and clothes she dismounted, leaving Rhaego to ride the horse alone for a moment, and ran toward him, past caring that it was unseemly for a Queen to run. He, too, dismounted and bowed before her, glancing up at the surrounding Dothraki as if unable to believe he had found them at last.

"You have returned," she finally managed.

"I have, khaleesi," he smiled and straightened to his full height before her. "I bring welcome from the city of Qarth which lies to the East, they extend the hand of friendship towards us. They offer shelter and friendship."

Her eyes glistened as she nearly cried, finding hope where there had once only been despair. "How far away?"

"One day's ride." He indicated the direction he had come from and she smiled. That was manageable.

"Very well." She nodded slowly before turning to the gathered khalasar behind them. "We ride for Qarth."

A cheer rose up in answer and she felt buoyed by their enthusiasm.

Before Kovarro turned to mount his steed once more she placed her small, calloused hand on his arm to stop him and held out her nearly depleted water skin. "Drink," she commanded.

"Khaleesi," he protested in shock as his eyes flickered between her offering and the set features of her face, "I cannot."

She gripped his arm harder and glared up at him insistently. He had risked his life for them to bring this message of hope, this was the least she could do. "Drink," she repeated.

Others saw what she was doing and many Dothraki also dismounted, bearing their own water skins and holding them towards him.

"Drink," they demanded, their voices overlapping each other in a tide of determination as they all pressed forward.

Daenerys smiled with fierce affection for these people, her people, as they offered what little they had to the man who had given so much. No one relented until he had taken a small sip from every water skin. He bowed to them all, humbled, and they swiftly remounted their steeds.

They rode on, once more chasing fate to where ever it would guide them.

Daenerys set her jaw, knowing that for her it must lead towards retribution and the time of reckoning where she would claim back her birthright and turn those who stood against her to ash. She would make it so, she must make it so for the sake of her son.

Rhaego looked up at her and smiled his innocent, guileless smile. She kissed his forehead and he wiggled happily in her grasp, drooling slightly from the corner of his mouth onto her arm as another teeth cut through. She had never seen anything so beautiful.


	13. The Seeds of Discontent

* * *

#  **Chapter Ten:**  


#  _The Seeds of Discontent_

* * *

Doreah was sick of the constant trials of sand, starvation and hardship, something she had borne far too much under the leadership of her khaleesi. More and more she regretted the day she had ever accepted Viserys' offer of a life as a handmaiden over the sometimes miserable but often stable life of a pleasure girl. Better the devil you know.

She was so out of her depth with this lifestyle of a nomadic barbarian that she found herself longing for the luxurious rooms of customers who had been able to afford her prices, for the glamour of serving such well to do men, even just for a bed to sleep on and food and water at her disposal once again. She longed for her old life, a life of relative ease before she had even heard of the name Targaryen.

She scowled and brushed sand from her eyes as she squinted ahead at the never-ending horizon. Her face was raw and her mouth dry, the blisters on her thighs had grown their own blisters and she fumed for this was not at all what she had been promised.

Yet she more than most knew the value of men's promises...

_"How would you like to be free," Viserys had asked as he traced slow circles over her skin with his soft, water-shriveled fingers. "How would you like to be my queen?"_

She could not deny that the word queen had enchanted her. The promise of freedom had tempted her. His words had seduced her more than those feeble attempts with his fingers ever could. As she lay in that tub with his hands exploring her body, her mind had wondered to jewels and feasts and power. Before she knew it she had said yes.

Gods what a fool she had been.

She glanced ahead at Daenerys who strode on ahead with purpose, as if she didn't know what a wasted effort this all was. Even if they did by some miracle survive the next few hours and make it to this city, the chance of her reclaiming that iron throne Viserys had loved to harp on about with his every breath was negligible. As a whore she had learned quite a lot about high houses and people of power, what a shame he had never thought to ask her opinion on his schemes, as she could have told him a thing or two. Their plans were hopeless, how had she ever allowed herself to be caught up in them?

Her head swam as the merciless rays beat down on her, bringing forth yet another trickle of sweat which snaked down her spine and itched uncomfortably. She had no strength left for the effort of wiping it away, all of her energy was concentrated on merely staying upright in her saddle. How pathetic she had become, weakened by lack of rest, shade or sustenance.

It wasn't that she had hated her job as handmaiden to the girl from the beginning. On the contrary it had been fun to give this high born girl, this heir to a foreign throne, this princess, lessons on how to be a whore. What an eager student the girl had been, too. She had often laughed to herself in private, rejoicing at how such proud and entitled folk had come to her doorstep asking for tuition in her trade, such a common trade. My, how the mighty could fall!

As she had taught the girl how to walk in a certain way, how to use her hips and voice, how to use her hands and mouth, she had taken pride in turning her from a bashful princess to a promising whore. The satisfaction she had felt as she heard the sounds coming from the khal's tent at night, or as the girl told her stories of what she had done, was worth living in tents like cattle farmers for. At first, anyway.

Then, to her surprise, she had gradually come to appreciate this girl. They had shared jokes and life stories, tears and laughter. She had watched her grow, helped her even. She had been there as she lost Drogo and gained her children, watched her overcome obstacles and handle situations with a maturity and spirit she had not expected. She had sometimes tended to her son and watched him grow at an astounding rate, the first time he had lisped her name she had laughed with true delight and swung him around in the air as he shrieked and gurgled with joy. Daenerys was more than just another spoilt high born child, she had become a woman whom Doreah had found herself having admiration as well as genuine affection for and there were points when Doreah would have gone so far as to call Daenerys a friend.

Doreah had never had many friends and she did not use the word lightly.

Yet that didn't stop her from wanting something better for herself right now. It had been far too long since she had felt comfortable and, friendship or not, she would not continue to follow a deluded girl on some fool's errand to the ends of the earth, especially when it was via this gods forsaken wasteland. If she never saw another grain of sand she would not be sorry, the blasted stuff got everywhere.

Her horse slowed and she bit down on a curse. No way would she be left behind. She kicked at its flanks weakly and was satisfied to see it respond by picking up its pace once more. Stupid thing, she wouldn't let it die here and take her with it, no way. She was a survivor and she would ensure she remained that way.

She drew her eyes once more to the horizon, braving the onslaught of sand which flew in her direction, scattering from the clumsy flight of the dragons as they flailed before her, and was shocked to make out something on the horizon. A city, it looked like. Was this Qarth?

She lowered her eyes once more and tentatively wiped away chunks of grit, scratching them slightly and wincing in pain. Cursed sand.

So they had reached the city, well that was a relief. She sighed slightly and allowed the tension in her shoulders and back to ebb away as she imagined a warm bath and food. Most of all, though, she imagined drinking water, sweet fresh water by the bottle. Her dry mouth throbbed at the thought and she tried to swallow to relieve the pressure, finding she could not summon enough spit for the task. No matter. Soon she would not have that problem, soon they would reach civilisation once more, where the creature comforts she so craved would be thrown their way if Kovarro's message of welcome were to be believed.

An hour later, just as the sun's rays were beginning to relent slightly in their unbearable heat, they reached the gates of the city. Doreah could have cried with relief, had she any water in her body to provide the tears. Her hands shook as she grasped the reigns and she waited with anticipation, watching Daenerys dismount the horse she rode and, on unsteady legs with chin held high, head towards the emissaries of Qarth who stood waiting at the imposing gate's entrance.

"We would see your dragons," the emissaries demanded loudly. Doreah could not see Daenerys' face, however she knew from the tightening of her shoulders that she would not take kindly to such a command. She was ridiculously protective of those scaled beasts she called her children.

After some deliberation which Doreah and the rest of the gathered tribe could not make out, one man stepped forward and seemed to vouch for them, pacifying the other members of the welcoming committee and indicating free passage for Daenerys and her group. She inclined her head gratefully and turned, indicating to the gathered Dothraki that they should follow her as she made to enter Qarth at the side of this stranger.

Doreah dug her heels as hard as she could into her horse's sides and drove him forward to follow Daenerys to a place where she could finally be at ease. As she caught up with her and the man who offered them his hospitality she noticed his large, dark eyes had been appraising her greedily. It was not just a quick glance of appreciation, his gaze bore into her and followed her as the horse trotted forwards. Excellent, she could work this to her advantage. From the corner of her eye she saw her khaleesi watch this with interest and she immediately lowered her gaze from the man to the ground innocently. She could feel Daenerys' eyes upon her as she rode through the bustling city but refused to turn around and meet her gaze. Let her notice how men watched her, Doreah smirked and flicked her hair over her shoulder, Daenerys may have her baby reptiles but the art of seduction was Doreah's weapon and she would not hesitate to use it when it suited her goals.

Slyly she glanced backwards over her shoulder to where the Qarth stranger stood welcoming the Dothraki into his city. He must have felt her stare and turned to face her, his pupils dilating heavily as he drank in the sight of her. He licked his voluptuous lips and she looked away coquettishly, allowing herself a small smile.

He could be her ticket to actual freedom. Or else, to an arrangement of service far more delicious in its appeals. A pleasant heat spread over her body as she imagined the dark stranger taking her to his bed as she introduced him to a whole new world of delights. Yes, he would be a definite improvement over sand and starvation.

She lounged on the feather stuffed mattress of the four poster bed in her new quarters having been bathed, fed and given water. Finally, she felt fully herself again.

As the flecks of dust shimmered in the sunlight near her window she felt her eyelids droop once exhaustion embraced her. She needed sleep, it would be the first proper rest she had had in months and her whole body screamed with the need to give in and allow unconsciousness to claim her. She was just on the cusp on a deep and peaceful slumber when she heard her door scratch the wooden floorboards of her room, jolting her wide awake, her eyes flying open as she scanned the room to see who it was that interrupted her rest.

Daenerys walked in quietly, smuggling something into Doreah's room under her cloak and glancing furtively behind to ensure she was not spotted. Irri followed her silently and closed the door as Daenerys wandered over to her, claiming her attention unapologetically with a hushed command; "Doreah, I need you to guard my dragons while we stay here."

Doreah held back a groan and sat up, her eyes adjusting to the light once more as she blinked rapidly. "Why, khaleesi?"

"I don't trust them," she held Doreah's gaze as if trying to convey things she could not speak aloud. Doreah nodded slowly as if in understanding, not caring much for the reasons at this point, she would find them out later on her own terms when he head wasn't so fuzzy.

Irri scrambled around, pulling out drawers and flinging open cupboards as if searching for something. Irritation rose up in Doreah but she strove to maintain a calm facade.

"What is she doing?" she indicated with a thrust of her chin.

Daenerys sighed, "she is looking for the best place to hide the dragons, somewhere no one would suspect."

"I see."

Daenerys hesitated for a moment, fiddling with her long locks of hair as if uncertain of how to proceed. Drogon and Viserion crawled out from under her cloak and she crooned to them for a little while as Doreah watched in silence. Rhaellath, too, crawled over from where she had been placed by Irri after being hidden under the servant's cloak. Great, she would be babysitting dragons. They stared up at her as if reading her innermost thoughts, their eyes unnerving her. She had never felt comfortable around the dragons and the idea of having them share her beautiful chambers was less than fantastic.

"I also have another favour to ask," Daenerys mumbled after a while, not meeting Doreah's eyes. She never requested things so reluctantly, never refused to make eye contact. Doreah panicked and felt goosebumps run up her arms as a thread of dread made its way through her stomach. Daenerys' tone and posture bode ill, what she needed must be unsavoury and Doreah was sick of putting her well being on the line for this ridiculous cause. Now wasn't the right time to break free from her protection under Daenerys though, so she would have to do the girl's bidding until she could cultivate connections of her own in Qarth. Curses.

"It is my pleasure to serve, khaleesi," she murmered obediently as her heart beat quickened in her chest, waiting to hear what it was her mistress expected of her now.

Daenerys lay her small white hand over Doreah's brown one and squeezed, a gesture of comfort which turned Doreah's insides to ice. How could she pretend concern for someone she was ordering on what could very well be an awful task? She remembered how the khaleesi had ordered her bloodriders to scout ahead for her, how she had held their gazes and sentenced them to death. Maybe such things were easy for a princess.

"I need to know the political lay of the land here," she began quietly, glancing back to make sure Irri was otherwise absorbed in her own task. "I must ask you to get close," she gave a meaningful look, "to our host Xaro Xhoan Daxos. He appears our ally, I would know his true stance. For this I ask that you use your skills and gather what information you can."

A wave of relief washed over Doreah as her mind raced to calculate the opportunities this would give her if she played her hand well.

It was not an act when she smiled winningly up at the Targaryen and agreed to this scheme. Daenerys laughed as a great weight lifted from her shoulders and Doreah watched as the girl turned to face her dragons with devotion. Doreah scowled slightly knowing she had been set aside in favour of these lizards in her regard. That was until she became useful again.

She would not forget how her 'friend' had been willing to throw her at any man which benefited her cause. Yes, this time it was an advantage, but what if it had not been? Would Daenerys still have marched her off to give away her wares in the bed of a stranger, like a lamb to slaughter, if Doreah had begged and pleaded with her not to? Yes, she had no doubt she would have. Anything for the crown she so prized. Because she was just a servant, maybe she had once been confused by this, maybe the lines had once been blurred, but now she saw clearly where they stood. Servant and mistress. Worlds apart.

Doreah cried in delight over the flaming skills of the dragons as Daenerys clapped them on with pride. All the while the cogs in her mind turned and ground as she figured out a way to carve her own path to freedom from this woman who she had called friend. Daenerys reached out and squeezed her hand again, grinning up at her with unguarded affection in her eyes.

Doreah smiled back.

The next day before she went out to explore she made sure to look her best. It was, she realised, no coincidence she had been given this room to herself. A room big enough to rival the khaleesi's. Irri had been provided with a futon at the foot of Daenerys' bed, which would no doubt have been the same given to Doreah had she not caught their host's eye upon entering the city. She would be sure to make such a gesture worth his while.

She primped and preened for an hour before the gem encrusted mirror, making sure everything was just so. She needed to catch his eye once more without him realising this was what she intended. Less was more in this case, yet she needed the less to be perfect and this took effort. By the time she was ready to go her eyes were lined with smokey paste so that when she gave a playfully flirty glance the effect would be stunning. She knew her own features well and these were her greatest assets, alongside her body. She had braided the sides of her hair up in an elegant manner and allowed the rest to cascade down her back in dark, glossy waves. There were few men who would refuse her, she knew, and it was with this assurance that she strode from her quarters and down beautiful, mosaic filled corridors to a large veranda where she could see all of Qarth beneath her.

Standing there with the wind whipping at her hair as she looked over a prosperous kingdom, she felt like a truly powerful woman with the ability to control her own destiny. Like a queen. The feeling was intoxicating and she breathed in and out slowly to calm the flow of adrenaline through her veins. She could feel the intensity of eyes as they examined her and she needed to give them something regal to look at.

"My lady," a deep, gentle voice sounded behind her and she slowly turned to meet Xaro's eyes with her own. She had hoped it were him.

"Sir," she greeted, licking her lips suggestively after speaking and quirking her eyebrow at him, inviting him to speak as if she were the superior. As if he required her permission.

He bowed low and she had to stop herself from giggling in delight like a young girl at being treated with such deference. Outwardly she regarded him with cool detachment and he smirked. "Qarth is honoured to host such fascinating and," he met her eyes boldy "beautiful guests."

She gave him a slight smile and turned back to face over the balcony once more, conscious of the picture she must make as her hair and skirts danced in the fragrant orange-blossom scented breeze. "Daenerys is indeed beautiful," she returned. She would make him work harder than pretty words to win her over.

"As are you," he insisted as he moved to stand besides her, his large hands resting on the balcony as he, too, regarded the city below them.

She shrugged. "Many women are beautiful, I would hope we have something more to offer you than aesthetics," she turned as if to walk away, back into the house, and he grabbed her arm. A thrill ran through her veins as she saw the raw desire in his eyes but she kept her cool. "I must see to my mistress, sir."

He did not let her go. His eyes bore into her soul, their intensity irresistible. She held her breath for a moment as their eyes locked.

"She has others to see to her needs, surely she can spare you for a little while?" His voice was husky and sent a shiver down her skin.

"Whatever for?" she asked, pursing her lips and allowing a faint blush to tinge her cheeks.

He gripped her arm tighter and gave a feral smile, showing his perfectly white teeth which contrasted brilliantly to his smooth ebony skin. Then he pulled her forcibly towards him with a quick, powerful movement, her body tight against his, and ran his other hand down her waist, panting slightly as she let out a slight moan. She couldn't help herself, he had actually caught her by surprise with his strength and insistence.

"For this," he gave a guttural growl as he covered her mouth with his own and kissed her passionately.

She felt her whole body tingle in response and, despite her resolve to make him work far harder before allowing him to have her, she found herself kissing him back and before she knew it they were in his chamber with him clawing at her clothes, ripping them off her body hungrily and throwing them to the ground. He was rough and she liked it rough, his desperation for her was arousing and soon they were entangled in a sweaty, passionate mess. She gasped as he pleasured her and cried out as he had her time and again that glorious afternoon.

Gods he was good.

"Sweet, sweet Doreah," he whispered against her neck, his hot breath tickling her, before he fell into a satisfied sleep.

She untangled herself from his body gently, so as not to wake him, grabbed a top of his from the room since her clothes were now in tatters, and waltzed out of his room smirking uncontrollably. A whore never stayed the night for cuddles. As the servants stared at her with mouths agape she wanted to laugh, completely unconcerned that his shirt barely covered her body or that her hair was a mess or that the sweat was still drying on her skin as the cool breeze of early evening caressed her body. Their judgment meant nothing to her, they were most likely just jealous it had been her, not one of them, who their master had made scream with such pleasure.

No doubt they would be queuing up to take her place at the first chance they got.

"Bring fruit and the evening meal to my quarters," she ordered one wide eyed slave. She was starving.

"Ye-yes milady," the young girl stammered before running off to do her bidding.

My, wasn't this fun, she smirked and wrinkled her nose slightly. She could get used to having people run to do her bidding...


	14. The Girl with the Black Leather Collar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haven't been around for a while but the new season of GoT has inspired me. Thank you for all the kind and supportive comments, even while I was away. It's for those of you who still left kudos and messages that I'm gonna continue.

Daenerys' first request, upon reaching the chambers she had been allocated by their new host Xaro, was that Irri draw up a steaming hot bath for her, Rhaego and the dragons. Once they had bathed fully she would smuggle the reptiles into Doreah's rooms for safe keeping, yet for now all she wanted to do was soak away the dust and sand of their travels. To wash away the blood of her riders whom she had sent on an impossible mission. Wash away the last few months, truth be told, soak them out of her weary body.

Irri bustled around the chambers as Daenerys slunk onto a chair to wait for her bath to be prepared, baffled by her maid's energy.

Rhaego curled up onto her knee without a word and his eyelids fluttered as he fought off rest for just a little while longer. She ran her hands over his matted silver hair and smiled at his stubbornness. How like his father he could be she mused, and her heart contracted painfully at the thought. Would he be a constant reminder of her loss with each day that passed as he grew into his features? No, she reminded herself, he would be a precious legacy. A delight.

The dragons curled up around the two of them, their lithe bodies winding into an embrace which had become routine on the journey through the waste. This had been how they often chose to sleep during those chilled dessert nights, when they needed more than ever to feel close to each other. The dragons poured soothing thoughts into young Rhaego's mind, sensing him wrestle against sleep while feeling the waves of exhaustion pouring off of his small body. As they began singing their beautiful song Daenerys smiled to see her son's lower lip stick out prominently, as it always did while he slept. She would wake him soon for their bath, but was relieved that he was able to snatch even a moment's peaceful rest. It was more than they had had in a long while.

In the delicious coolness of their room she felt some of the weariness seep from her bones as she relaxed into the plush chair. She felt strangely reluctant to allow the tension to slip from her body, yet there was no need to hold onto it in this place. They were no longer within death's clutches and small things, such as the fact they had been presented with water and small portions of food upon their arrival, gave her renewed strength and energy. She had been told there would be a feast tonight in their honour, but until then the portions of food which had been thrown together in haste would sustain them all. Here her people were safe once more.

Yet a stubborn knot in her stomach remained. They wanted her dragons and while she were not in a position to refuse their hospitality for now, she found she could not truly relax until she was confidence that her children were safe. All of them.

"We will be fine, Mother," the dragons purred in her mind, a trickle of contented energy seeping into her mind. "It would take more than humans such as these to tear us from our family."

This should have reassured her, but a seed of dread remained. The minute they had bathed she would run them over to Doreah who, thankfully, had been given her very own chamber. Daenerys could relax knowing they would be protected there.

"But Mother," Rhaelath sent drowsily, her head bobbing slightly as she blinked her eyelids open, "she holds no love for us."

"Nonsense." Daenerys waved this away with a fond smile. "Of course she does, she adores you. Everyone adores you, Zaldrīzes~Ītsos."

Rhaelath keeping her thoughts silent and Daenerys assumed that she had reassured the creature. Such a strange idea, though. Doreah often showed outright affection for the young dragons, where had this opinion come from? Rhaellath was mistaken in this matter, which was unusual as the dragons were usually so perceptive of those around them. Daenerys shrugged. Whatever had got such a thought in the dragon's head was no matter now. It was clearly ludicrous.

Surely?

The sound of sloshing water filled the room over the next half an hour as Irri worked tirelessly to prepare her mistress's bath. Where she found such vigour, Daenerys did not know. She, herself, felt unable to move, her limbs weighing into the cushioned chair like lead and her head a constant throbbing pain. It tired her just to watch her maid move so, and she thanked her luck yet again that she had been blessed with such diligent and faithful handmaidens. 

Rhaelath was wrong about Doreah, Daenerys knew her servants well and there could never be anyone more committed. Just look at Irri, she had told the girl to relax and offered to call up one of Xaro's own house slaves, but she had refused with a set jaw, horrified that her mistress would even make such a suggestion.

"You are mine to serve," she had asserted with a proud tip of her chin, looking up into Daenerys' eyes with such a depth of dedication it humbled her. That had been the end of the discussion.

A smile played faintly on Daenerys' lips as she heard her maid humming soft melodies even as she hauled yet another bucket of water through the room. Daenerys had rarely had the chance as a young girl to make friends, being kept at arms length from all who were seen as below her rank; which had been everyone except for her brother. Since being given her three handmaidens, though, she had come to realise how much she had missed out on while being deprived of female companionship. She treasured Irri, Doreah and Jhiqui, for in them she had found this friendship over the two years she had been their mistress.

When she married Drogo she had been gifted with her dragon eggs, her beloved husband and her precious friends. She did not underestimate how blessed she had been in all these things. They had all been a source of great strength to her.

"Mistress, your bath is ready." Irri opened the door of the bathing chamber, her head popping into view as a waft of steam danced into the room.

Daenerys smiled fondly at the sweat soaked girl before her.

"Excellent. Now, please, you must take care of yourself, dear Irri," Daenerys chided. "I shall summon slaves to fetch you fruit and wine as I bathe. They shall then draw you your own tub of water. For now, I insist you rest." She picked up and shook a brass tube which contained a small bell that hit the inside walls loudly, this was how she had been shown to summon slaves. The ringing sounded harsh to her ears and in his sleep Rhaego stirred.

A young girl, possibly six or seven in years, scurried into the chamber within seconds, the bells on her ankles and wrists chiming.

"Yes, Mistress?" she lisped, staring at the floor as she hopped from foot to foot.

Daenerys and Irri stood staring, taken aback by her tender years.

"You are a slave her, child?" Daenerys asked after a moment. As if the large black collar around her tiny neck did not tell her all she needed to know.

"Yes, Mistress. Is something wrong?" Although the child still refused to make eye contact, Daenerys could see the whites of her eyes grow bigger in fear.

Daenerys bit down on what she wanted to say, almost choking on the indignation which welled up inside her. She had not been sheltered enough to think that slavery did not exist, but looking at this young girl and her large leather collar something inside her flared.

"No," she managed sharply.

The girl flinched at Daenerys' tone and took a step backwards.

Daenerys checked herself, noting with a sickened feeling how the girl's skinny arms trembled, and made sure her tone was gentle as she asked, "What is your name?"

The girl bit her lip and her shoulders tensed. Daenerys imagined she would bolt if she could, but fear rooted her to the spot. Fear and that collar.

"Nagis," she squeaked.

"Come here, Nagis." Daenerys held a hand out to the girl, who finally looked up. Her mouth formed an O shape upon seeing the dragons, who had roused at this exchange and now perched upright as they regarded this child with interest.

Slowly Nagis approached, her eyes not leaving the dragons for an instant. She hardly blinked.

"Mother, may I?" Viserion asked, sensing the girl's awe but unable to send thoughts of greeting to her unfamiliar mind.

"Be gentle," Daenerys replied, nodding her head a fraction in permission.

Viserion, the most confident in gliding as well as the most accident prone, flapped his paper-thin wings, causing a small gust that woke Rhaego, and flew clumsily towards the girl's tiny shoulder intending to perch. Seeing him coming for her, little Nagis threw up her arms to cover her face and let out the tiniest of whimpers. Not anticipating her reaction, the dragon missed his target and crashed into her elbow, bouncing off with a squawk and landing in a heap on the floor to her side. Breathing heavily, Nagis stared down at his tangle of wings and limbs in silence.

A silence only broken by a chuckle from Rhaego, whose dimpled smile broadcast his utter delight at waking to such a scene. He loved nothing more than watching Viserion's spectacular flying failures.

"Viserion silly," he cried, looking up at the girl with his large eyes and giving her his widest, most alluring grin. 

She blinked at him in shock, certain it could not be a smile intended for her.

Daenerys set Rhaego down and stood stiffly, her muscles protesting at being used once again after their rest, seeing that her dragon's attempt to calm the girl had only made the situation worse. If more amusing, she admitted, smothering her own grin.

She walked over to the girl and stooped down, righting poor Viserion gently and holding her arm down so he could climb back to perch with his siblings. The girl watched this in fascinated silence, her dark eyes wide.

"There is nothing to fear from my children, Nagis," Daenerys told the child as she lay a gentle hand on her head. The girl flinched from Daenerys' touch and looked down again. A frown drew Daenerys' brows together as she imagined what had made this young girl so fearful of even the lightest of touch.

"Can I try again?" Viserion asked eagerly, shaking off his wings and sending pleading thoughts to Daenerys, eager to regain his pride after that dramatic failure.

"One moment." She tapped his nose gently and smiled. "Let's allow Rhaego to try."

"Human brother can't fly..." Viserion grumbled, but they all watched as the prince toddled up to the girl. 

With his dimpled smile illuminating his features, he wrapped his chubby hand around the rough material of her tunic. "Play?" he pleaded, and she met his eyes. Her nose wrinkled as she relaxed and gave him a genuine smile, before looking warily back to Daenerys.

"It would please me greatly if you were to play with my son," she encouraged. Her words brought a self conscious smile to the girl's face and Daenerys' chest warmed. "Only we must bathe now, sweet child, so could you wait until later?"

The girl nodded slowly. "Of course, Mistress."

Rhaego pouted and held her tunic with a stronger grip until the material bunched. "She too."

Daenerys smiled and knelt down to eye level with her son. "She cannot bathe with us, my darling. Our water is too hot."

He jutted out his chin and frowned. She kept eye contact and shook her head slowly until he relaxed his frown, giving her a pleading look before asking, "Play soon?"

"Yes, I promise," she smiled, prying her son away to shepherd him towards their bathing chambers. Rhaego turned around before the steam could fully engulf him and held up his little hand to wave at his new friend, who smiled shyly and waved back.

As they entered the room and the hot condensation brought a sheen of sweat to her skin, Daenerys closed the door. Before it shut she heard the kind voice of Irri as she asked the girl to stay with her for a little while and share a drink of honeyed pomegranate juice, which they could fetch together from the kitchens.

Daenerys inhaled the steam and smiled, feeling it sooth the back of her throat. As she placed the dragons into the tub they hissed with pleasure, the boiling water lapping up their scales. She then peeled off the layers of clothes which she had worn for so long that they had nearly fused to her skin and allowed the steam to caress her naked flesh, bringing goosebumps up her arms. She sighed with pleasure.

"Hel-p." Rhaego waved his arms in distress. He had tried to remove his own tunic and got as far as bringing it to his head before he toppled onto the floor, his clothes covering his eyes as he flailed around.

"Here." She bent down and helped him. 

He blinked as the garment's removal brought a shower of sand and grit down over his head and coughed. "Eww!" Spitting out grains of red, he grimaced with curiosity as they mixed with the water on the floor to create a gritty paste, which he swirled around with one chubby finger to make patterns on the floor.

The dragons hung over the side of the tin tub and shared their feelings of amusement as they watched him. Daenerys had to admit, he was funny and adorable when plastered in sand. She rubbed off the worst of it as he concentrated on the gloop he was creating, and swooped him up into her arms in one graceful movement. He wriggled slightly and made himself comfortable against her, sighing as she stepped into the water and lowered them both into the delicious heat.

"Brother, look sharp," Drogon sent with a mischievous undertone before using his tail to splash water and soak the young boy's hair.

"Dro!" he sent back, spluttering. He blinked the rivulets of water out of his eyes as they ran down his face, bringing fresh sand and dirt in streaks. "Take this!" He splashed back clumsily, missing Drogon and succeeding only in soaking himself and Daenerys.

They spent the next hour working the dirt and sand out of their hair, eyes and scales. When they were finished the water was a murky red with clumps of dirt floating around, but it had served its purpose for they were now clean. Rhaego's pale face positively glowed, his cheeks red with the heat and his hair glossy once more. He looked unrecognisable from the the filthy child she had cuddled on her knee an hour before. Daenerys was certain she must look equally different, she certainly felt it. The dragons, too, shone brighter and seemed chirpier than before. All in all she felt refreshed and ready to sleep until the feast, however there was one thing she and Irri had to do first.

She wrung her long hair out as she stepped out of the tub and squeezed the worst of the water from it before dropping it to hang down her back. It would dry naturally. She then picked out Rhaego and the dragons and called to Irri to stoke the fire so they could drip dry in front of it, as she often had as a girl in Pentos. She had always loved those hours sitting before the fire as the heat of the flames licked her skin and dried her long locks of hair. Often she would watch the flickers of the flames and daydream of an alternate life, one where Rhaegar had taken his rightful throne. One where the uprising had failed. In her mind's eye she had sculpted faces for the characters, for the family, she had heard so much about yet never seen. In the firelight anything seemed had possible as it warmed her to her very soul.

Now she didn't need firelit dreams. Dreams were for children, and she had replaced them with schemes and a true family which no one would be able to extinguish.

As she walked out holding her children and settled in a close proximity to the flames Irri was stoking, Nagis stared open mouthed at the Daenerys' naked body.

"What's wrong?" she heard Irri ask curiously.

"I...have never seen a naked lady before." Nagis blushed as if with shame and averted her eyes.

Irri chuckled. "There is nothing to fear in the human body, little one."

"Fetch me a robe, please Irri?" Daenerys asked. "I would not make our friend uncomfortable."

"As you wish." Irri shrugged with a smirk. She went to find a light robe from the collection of clothes Daenerys had been gifted and took it over, caressing the sheer material between finger and thumb and humming. "A beautiful gown, Khaleesi."

Daenerys nodded and wrapped it around her shoulders until it clung to her still damp body. "Is this more acceptable for Qarth?" she asked the girl, shrugging into the sleeves and savouring the feeling of silk against her skin.

"It is, Mistress." Nagis nodded, finally daring to look up once more.

"Irri, would you like to bathe before we take the dragons?" Daenerys asked. "As you will need fresh water, we were filthy." She gave a wry smile by way of the apology it would never be appropriate to give. Not over such a small thing, at least.

"I will sort that, don't worry." Irri grinned and hurried to prepare a tub for herself with her usual cheer.

Daenerys went over to pour herself a drink and invited the girl to sit at the fire with her, where the pleasant warmth could surround them. Nagis hurried up to snatch a tub of lotion before complying, sitting behind Daenerys and silently working handfuls of the coconut-scented oils through her damp hair, massaging as she did. All the while the child snuck glances towards where Rhaego played with the dragons. His loose ringlets dried slowly and the droplets of water on his pale skin glistened in the firelight. The dragons also glistened and Daenerys could see why they made such an incredible picture to those who had never seen anything so glorious. It may be too much to say Daenerys herself had grown used to them with their unnatural beauty, sometimes they still took her breath away.

Rhaego turned for a moment and noticed Nagis watching him. She looked away quickly, horrified that she had been caught staring, especially since he wore no clothes. Rhaego fell to his knees and crawled over to her, tugging at her wrist and tried to drag her over to the dragons. Nagis turned to look to Daenerys, her eyes seeking permission, and the mother of dragons grasped the slave's sticky hands in her own before nodding with an encouraging smile.

"Go play, little one. It's okay, the dragons won't hurt you."

A slow smile broke out across the tiny girl's features as she wiped her hands down her tunic, and she and Rhaego played with the dragons under Daenerys' watchful gaze while Irri bathed. This was a joy of childhood Daenerys had longed to see, watching her precious son play with another human child as if he didn't have a care in the world. As if he were just any normal child. 

A simple joy, and one she had never been permitted.

"Look, 'Gis, me run!" he cried as he bolted from his spot by the fire towards the heavy cedar dining table. With a wild shriek he spread his arms as he had seen the dragons do with their wings. "I fly!" He made it three large, fast steps before toppling to the ground in a pile of limbs, giggling as Nagis cried out and ran over to check he was okay.

"Lord Rhaego!" Nagis patted his hair with trembling fingers, but he had no time for being soothed. With a cry of delight he wriggled out of her arms and waddled back towards the fire, sharing excited thoughts with the dragons who laughed at the fact he ran like Viserion flew. Nagis crept back over to them, slightly shaken from the boy's fall, but returned to play once more. 

She had a good way with her son and the dragons, Daenerys noted to her delight. Gentle and eager to please, with a loud laugh which had startled them coming from one so shy at first.

Once Irri was done and had dried herself with a cloth, as was her way, they both got dressed into functional clothes. Daenerys scooped up Drogon and Viserion, telling them to cling to her as she threw a cloak around them, while Irri did the same with Rhaellath.

"We must take you where you will be safe," Daenerys sent, the thought tinged with a note of regret. "I will bring Rhaego to see you, I promise."

"Muña?" Rhaego spluttered, rushing over to them and gazing up with anxious eyes. His lower lip wobbled as he reached out for the dragons with his mind, "Don't leave me!"

"We will be here, little brother," they replied. "Don't worry."

Daenerys looked away from her son, her heart tightening under his pained gaze.

"We'll go to see them tomorrow, Rhaego." But such flat words held no comfort for any of them. "This is for their safety."

"Quba." He scrunched up his little fists and scowled. "Quba! Quba!"

Nagis walked up to him and put her tiny arm around his shoulders, making shushing noises and trying to calm him. To no effect.

Daenerys left him in the hands of the slave girl as she slipped through the door followed by Irri. They tore through the villa and the tiny pinpricks of her dragon's claws nipped into her skin as they grabbed onto her under the heavy cloak. She could still hear the wailing of her son and the soothing noises of the slave girl ricochet around her mind as they reached Doreah's vast chambers.


End file.
